Breaking the Cycle: It Has Begun
by Son of Caliban
Summary: Three galactic powers. One a rising Empire, seeking its place in the stars. One a forgotten experiment, abandoned by its creators. And the last a regime that has lasted a thousand years, slowly decaying but holding firm. Three powers, one galaxy. And now, it has truly begun. (Crossover of Warhammer 30k, Mass Effect, Killzone and Destiny)
1. Prologue

Breaking the Cycle

 **AN: Well, here I am. After several weeks of formulating ideas, brainstorming with a friend/co-writer and bashing my head against a wall repeatedly, here we are. What is this?**

 **This is Breaking the Cycle, a ridiculous idea turned serious idea that came about when I wondered what would happen if I were to throw Mass Effect, Warhammer 40k, Destiny and Killzone all into the same universe. Well, Killzone and Destiny came after the original idea, but the point stands.**

 **Well, here we go (crosses fingers).**

 **Prologues:**

 **Imperial Ascendant**

 **The Imperial Palace Central Hall, Terra**

The man was walking with an air of authority to him, causing nearby servants to bow, even though they didn't quite know why. His cloak and cowl were blacker than the night sky, while the robes beneath were sable edged with golden thread, the symbol of a two-headed eagle displayed proudly upon his chest. His right hand gripped a staff of acacia wood bearing a golden eagle statuette set in a burning flame within an iron brazier.

The two Custodes, clad in their golden raiment with helmets adorned with brilliant red plumes, crossed their spears over the doorway, blocking his access to the chambers beyond. He looked up at them, his eyes shining from beneath his black cowl. The one to his left stepped away, the spear returning to a ready position, while the other turned and led him forwards into the rooms.

"My Lord Sigillite, we were not expecting your arrival." The Custodes remarked, as they walked through the marble halls.

"I am unfortunately away on business, typically." The Sigillite replied, letting his gaze idly wander across the many murals and paintings decorating the walls, before looking over to the gold-armoured sentinel. His voice grew quieter, and his tone became one of concern. "How is he doing, Custodian?"

"Not very well, my lord." The Custodian's own voice dropped as well. "He has locked himself in his chambers, refusing any visitors."

"He will see me." The Sigillite reassured, before he stopped.

They had arrived at the large wooden doors leading to the Emperor of Mankind's personal quarters, sealed shut and faintly glowing with psychic energies. Malcador sighed, before raising his staff.

The Custodian looked on in awe as the staff lit up a brilliant azure hue, the flames within the brazier at the top turning violet and the eagle's eyes glowing green, before Malcador slammed the butt of the staff to the ground. The wards around the door physically cracked, a thousand miniscule lines spider-webbing across the shield, before disappearing with the sound of a thousand glass panes shattering.

"Custodian, if you would be so kind…" The Sigillite said, gesturing to the door.

The Custodian stepped forwards, grasping his Guardian Spear in his left hand while pushing the door open with his right. The hinges creaked slightly, and Malcador frowned beneath his hood.

"How long has it been, exactly?" He asked the Custodian.

"One week, two days, seven hours and forty-three minutes." The Custodian answered with a sigh.

"Looks like I need to hurry, then." Malcador replied, nodding to the Custodian. "Close the doors behind me, and let no one in unless under the most dire circumstances."

"Understood, my lord." The gold-armoured man responded.

"Very good." Malcador stepped through the door, noting the faint scent of alcohol tainting the otherwise sweet, incensed smell of his greatest friend's chambers.

He walked down the wide corridor, boots and staff making a rhythmic tapping sound on the marble floors. He stepped past rooms great and small, filled with trophies of war or racks of weapons that rivaled the Imperial Palace's own armoury in size. Finally, he reached the personal quarters, where the scent of alcohol was stronger.

He pushed open the door, noting the lack of a ward here, and stepped in. The room was dark, the door to the outside corridor creating a wedge of light that only revealed empty floor. The crackling flames wreathing the end of his staff gave Malcador a circle of light stretching about twenty feet.

"My lord?" He called, his voice echoing back at him almost mockingly.

He heard something moving to his right, and sensed a small surge of psychic energy from that same direction. He turned and raised his staff, ready to conjure a shield to protect himself, before realizing he was now illuminating the Emperor of Mankind.

"Hey Mal." His liege spoke quietly, giving him the faintest shadow of a smile.

He looked awful, like a ghost of his usually lively self. His skin was sickly pale and his eyes, normally so full of energy and the fires of conviction and faith in his people, were now filled with sorrow. His normally booming voice, able to inspire his armies to super-human feats of heroism or turn entire legions of foes to his banner, was cracked and weak. His hair hung around his head, ratty and unclean, and the burning aura that seemed to constantly surround him was almost entirely faded.

"My… my liege, what happened?" Malcador asked, stunned at his friends transformation.

"They took them, Mal. Each and every one of them, they took them all." The Emperor replied, his voice cracking. "My beautiful, wonderful sons, stolen right out of my hands."

"Who took them?" Malcador asked.

"The four." The Emperor replied, sighing. "They sent… something, to take them. I don't know what it was, but it overpowered two of my Custodians and did… something. A storm began, wind howling, and it ripped all five of them from the machines."

"It was not your fault, my lord." Malcador said, stepping closer.

"Of course it was!" The Emperor cried. "I underestimated them, Mal. I didn't realize they would strike so soon."

"You had no way of knowing what they would do…" Malcador began.

"I did, though!" He was starting to sound angry now, his voice filling with rage. "I had every way of knowing, but I ignored them! I thought I would be able to stop them when they came, but they just… it was terrifying, Mal. All four of them, working together, they overwhelmed me in an instant and ripped my sons from my grasp with ease. I was powerless to stop them."

"My lord, you must have done all you could." The Sigillite countered.

"And all that I could wasn't enough." The Emperor sighed. "They were too strong."

"Then why do you hide here?!" Malcador shouted, throwing his hood back. "You should be rallying the Legions to your own banner, finalizing the reunification, not cowering in your rooms like a scared child! They may have beaten you this time, but you cannot let this small defeat stop you from finishing this plan you have spent decades forming and following!"

The Emperor was silent for a moment, looking at the floor, before rising to his feet, chuckling.

"You are right, of course." The Emperor of Mankind said, looking at Malcador in the eyes, before sighing. "You're always right."

"F-forgive me, my lord, I spoke in haste…" Malcador began, worried he may have offended his liege, only to be cut off by a hand on his shoulder.

"No, Mal, you're right." The Emperor repeated. "I can't just sit here feeling sorry for myself. I need to move on."

"So what do we do?" The Sigillite asked, looking up at his liege, whose golden aura was beginning to return, surrounding him with a corona of light that glowed like the sun.

"Summon the Legions, Malcador." The Emperor said, staring at the suit of armour currently standing, unoccupied, by the far wall. "Bring me my Space Marines, and then we will begin."

"And where will we go first, my Emperor?" Malcador asked.

"Mars." The Emperor answered. "It is time I had a word with our technologically minded brethren."

 **The Forsaken Children**

 **Colony** _ **Tenacity's Reward**_ **, Zovenhein**

The lone ship was a tiny black speck in the sky, rapidly growing larger as it descended towards the planet. It was a slim blade knifing through the heavens, its main engine glowing a deep blue that reflected off of the black plates making up the armour. Its broad triangular shape brought to mind images of prehistoric airborne lizards, broad triangular wings, with a crest over the cockpit that tapered to a fine point. Its only identification was the unmistakable three pointed arrow of the Helghen Empire, set in a red circle on each wing.

It seemed to be aiming for a smoking cluster of dark grey buildings set amidst the mountains and canyons, seemingly scattered across the landscape. A set of three landing pads were set in a small space-port, rectangular slabs of metal suspended over a canyon approximately five hundred meters deep. One of the slabs was occupied by the smoldering remains of a civilian transporter, orange flames licking up from its main body and smoke billowing from its main cockpit.

The black ship slowed, smaller thrusters igniting along the bottom as it gently touched down on the central pad. A small ramp descended from the bottom, allowing the ships sole occupant to stride into the growing light from the worlds orange sun.

He too was clad in shadowy, mysterious colours, dark grey armour plating on the chest, shoulders, forearms and shins of a skintight black bodysuit. The man's helmet was all angular metal and black tubing connecting to the suit, with a singular red eye in the centre. Over all this was a burgundy shoulder-cape and cowl, shadowing the face and making the singular red eye the only clear detail.

He had no weapons in his hands, but there was a handgun attached to his left hip and a large knife sheathed on his right. A large scoped rifle was slung across his right shoulder, ready to be shrugged into a firing position. The barrel was long enough to reach his knees, while the stock stood over his shoulder.

The solitary red eye tracked silently across the surrounding terrain, lingering on the burning transporter, before the man continued walking. He shrugged the rifle into his hands, keeping his finger on the trigger. He noted the main door of the port was a twisted mess of charred metal, a clear sign of explosives.

It was inside he found his first body. A Security Trooper, her Sta-25 submachine-gun still in hand. Her body was pockmarked with tiny holes, definitely from the weapon that killed her, but he had no idea what sort of weapon could cause that sort of damage. Maybe a shotgun?

Once he exited the building, he saw more bodies, mostly of Security Forces. There were clear signs that the town's Security Force had fought a defensive battle, but had been attacked from several directions at once. He found more bodies, pockmarked with the same tiny holes. However, there were few civilian bodies, the corpses were mostly soldiers with weapons.

His final count came to twenty-five dead security troopers, and fifteen dead civilians. That couldn't be right, he thought. This was a small colony, sure, but the records stated that there were supposed to be almost four hundred people here . There were three-hundred sixty-odd colonists unaccounted for.

Then he heard coughing. It was weak, like the person producing the sound couldn't produce enough air to properly clear their lungs, but it was still a noise. He turned towards the sound, noting it was coming from a nearby prefab building. He pushed open the door, and noticed a trail of blood leading down the hall and towards a door at the back.

He slung the rifle back over his shoulder and grabbed his pistol, flipping the safety. His other hand strayed towards the knife, but he shook his head. He didn't need it, yet, and a concealed weapon would come in handy if he ran into trouble. He walked quietly down the hall, boots producing virtually no noise, before reaching the open door. He took cover beside it and leaned his head around, peering in.

There was a corpse here, another civilian. He was riddled with the same pockmarks the other corpses were, and a dropped Sta-19 lay on the ground beside him. The same model as his own, but without the laser sight on one side. The hooded man crouched down and checked the body closer. The skin was cold, he had been dead for a while. That meant it wasn't him who was making noise, so who was?

Then there was another cough.

It was muffled and already very quiet, so he barely heard it. But it was definitely there, a differentiation in the background sound his helmet was filtering out. The red eye twisted like a camera's lens as it switched from camera-vision to thermal.

There. Beneath bed, amidst a pile of dirty bedding and clothes, was small heat signature. The hooded man spoke.

"Come out from under there." He ordered, his helmet modifying his voice to be deeper and almost mechanical in quality. "No weapons, or I will shoot."

He heard a stifled gasp of fear, before silence. His helmet could now hear panicked breathing, faster than usual. He reached under the bed, grabbing one of the figures limbs.

"NO!" They screamed, struggling. They sounded young, he noted.

He pulled them out, revealing a scrawny leg wearing black shorts, then a grey shirt, then the face of a terrified small girl. She was covered in dirt and grime, and looked almost malnourished.

She started kicking at him with her other leg, before he grabbed her upper arms, holding her in place. She tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding.

"Hold still, and I'll release you." He said, his single red eye meeting her two blue.

She said something he only caught half of, but he was sure it wasn't something polite. She ceased her fighting, though, so he let go of her arms. She stared up at him.

"You're not like the other ones." She stated. "You don't too many eyes."

"I don't have what?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.

"You only have one. They had… lots." She was trying to remember something. "They were like you, but with a long eye instead of a round one."

"Who are you talking about? The people who attacked this colony?" He asked.

"Yes. They came from the mountains. And the sky." She replied.

The hooded man realized the girl had a glazed look in her eyes.

' _Of course she does, she's probably in shock. Her whole colony got wiped out or stolen.'_ He thought.

"Are you here to look for them?" She asked him suddenly.

"The people who attacked?" He asked back.

"The ones who killed my dad." She confirmed, gesturing to the corpse in the room with them. "You should kill them."

The hooded man nodded once.

"Don't worry, I'll find them." He offered her his hand. "Now come with me. I need to report to my superiors. They'll need to hear this."

 **The Old Regime**

 **Council Meeting Chamber, Citadel Presidium**

" _Meanwhile, in other news, there have been confirmed reports of newcomers onto the galactic stage, though their arrival has been anything but peaceful. A Turian picket fleet watching over an inactive Mass Relay was utterly eradicated by these newcomers, of whom the only footage is a short clip of video footage taken by a Turian hull-camera. Unfortunately, this footage has yet to be publically released by the Turian Hierarchy or the Citadel."_

"How do they know that, Spirits damn them?!" Sparatus, the Turian Councilor cursed, slamming a clenched fist into the table in front of him. "The fleet was completely eradicated, and there were no other ships in the area!"

"It is possible there was a leak in your Naval Intelligence services." Sallin, Sparatus's Salarian counterpart, offered. "The STG only discovered the fate of Watch-Fleet Forty-Two yesterday."

"This could cause a panic across Council space." Tevos, the Asari Councilor, said. "A new race that utterly wiped out a Turian fleet now completely unaccounted for. Along with the Cabal tearing through the Terminus, and the Batarians still threatening to leave, we're not in a good position here."

"The Hierarchy takes full responsibility for failing to control the Cabal, but the Batarians have been threatening to leave since almost immediately after they got here." Sparatus replied. "Besides, the Cabal have made their intentions clear. They want more territory. Who cares if they clean out the Terminus systems for us?"

"What's stopping them aiming higher than just the Terminus?" Sallin countered. "They know our combined navies only just meet theirs in numbers, and they're ground forces are far superior to any but the Turians."

"Sallin, the Cabal will never dare to strike directly against us." Sparatus argued. "They know we have half the galaxy at our back should they try."

"Gentlemen, I believe we have strayed from the original topic of discussion." Tevos said, leaning over the table. "What are we to do about these newcomers?"

"The STG will be on the lookout for them." Sallin replied. "We already have a taskforce tracking them. Which brings me to my next report…"

A bluish grey-skinned Salarian entered the chamber, clad in white and black STG combat armour with a pistol on his hip. He gave a short bow to the Councilors, before placing his hands behind his back and standing up straight at attention.

"Captain Anemos, 3rd STG division, reporting." Kirrahe stated.

"Captain, show them what you've found." Sallin gestured to the Captain, who activated his omni-tool.

"We discovered the wreckage of both Turian and the stranger races ships at the site, Councilors." Anemos said, several images of a wreckage field showing up on screen.

"But our ships didn't get the chance to fire a shot!" Sparatus interrupted. "What destroyed their ships?"

The Captain raised his omni-tool, changing the table's display to show close ups of hull sections from both sides ships. "We believe, judging by the similar weapons damage on both Turian and the unknown race's vessels, the strangers turned on each other after eradicating the Forty-Second fleet."

"What provoked them into firing on each other?" Tevos asked.

"We are not sure." Anemos answered. "We have several theories, but none of them make much sense. We are currently tracking their Eezo trails, but they appear to have separated into multiple smaller groups. We came across a smaller vessel, approximately frigate-sized, but it jumped into FTL before-"

He was cut off by his omni-tool bleeping repeatedly, and he checked it, before opening the communications line.

"What is it lieutenant?" He asked, placing a finger to his ear. He stood there for several moments, before his eyes widened. "Understood. Send me the file." Anemos looked at the assembled Councilors. "I think you should hear this."

He tapped his omni-tool several times, before the table's display changed again, this time a black rectangle. Then it began to speak. The language was harsh and guttural, and the voice was a deep growl. The translation was crude, but effective in getting the point across.

" _This is the Kell of Kings, true ruler of the Eliksni people. On this day, our sun died and our world burned. On this day, we have been forced from our home. On this day, my fellow Eliksni, we have Fallen. I hereby declare the Fourth Tenet in effect. All Houses will now stand alone, in the ways of old, until one who is worthy reunites our people."_ The voice sounded almost sad, if it was possible. _"Stand firm, my fellow Kells, and lead your people into this new world."_

The Council stood silently, each of their reactions different. Sparatus was snarling, his subvocals growling the deep tone of anger and acknowledgement of a threat. Sallin was silent, looking perfectly calm, but to anyone well versed in the skills of observation, he was shocked. Finally, Tevos had a look of concern and worry about her, her gaze soft.

"We must find them." Tevos muttered, before raising her voice. "We must find them, and speak to them."

"They attacked our fleet!" Sparatus retorted. "They are clearly hostile!"

"You heard the transmission as well, Sparatus!" Tevos was glaring at him, the Turian noted. "They have clearly just suffered some sort of system-wide catastrophe, and ran! They were likely terrified!"

"I agree." Sallin replied. "Though I believe we must find them before they cause any more harm, they must be found, and quickly. Captain, you are dismissed. Return to your hunt immediately."

"Understood, Councilors." Anemos saluted, before leaving the room.

Sparatus spoke just as the door hissed shut behind the STG operative. "Tevos, you cannot be serious!" He said incredulously.

"I am serious, Sparatus. We must speak to these… _Eliksni_ , before they can cause harm to themselves or others." Tevos argued. "We can't make assumptions as to their character based on one action."

"That 'one action' was them destroying a Turian fleet and killing over two-hundred of my people!" Sparatus replied, on the verge of shouting. "Do you know how outraged the Hierarchy would be if we were to simply pretend that didn't happen?!"

"Both of you, stop it, now." Sallin interjected, quieting the two. "Whatever the result, we must find the _Eliksni_ before it is too late. I propose we send a Spectre."

"But who?" Sparatus asked. "Half the Spectre corps is busy dealing with the Cabal or the Hegemony!"

"I suggest we send him." Sallin offered, projecting a picture of a Turian on screen. "Newly inducted into the corps, eager to prove himself, and one of the highest scoring candidates so far in the history of the Spectres."

"I know that face." Sparatus said, pondering. "Are you sure you want to send **him**? There are more experienced agents available…"

"Yes, but most of those experienced agents are in the Terminus, harassing the Cabal. I think it's a perfect choice." Tevos agreed. "I vote yes."

"Then I suppose it is decided." Sallin said. "Spectre Saren Arterius will enter the Terminus Systems, and hunt for the _Eliksni_."

 **And so it begins. I know this was a little short, but this is just prologues for our three key players, nothing too big. The Imperium is about to take its first steps towards conquering everything, the Helghen Empire has a mystery to solve, and the Council has to deal with everybody else's crap. So, nothing special then.**

 **Meanwhile, I'm sitting here atop a mountain of notes, ideas and storyboards that are all telling me I'm in this for the long haul. No sweat, just going to work on six main installments, at least two shorter spin-offs, and who knows how many one-shot ideas I'll come up with along the way.**

 **If you liked this, please tell me why, and if you didn't, same deal. If you're intrigued, amused or simply want to watch this trainwreck as it goes on, follow, and add it to your favourites if you really liked it (or hated it, for you ironic-hipster people).**

 **(Extra: Yes, I'm fully aware the cover image is crap. I threw it together in five minutes in MS Paint as a quick cover. I'm hoping to get a better cover later.)**


	2. Chapter 1

Breaking the Cycle

 **AN: I'M SO SORRY.**

 **First it was school. Then it was more school. Then it was Dragon Age Inquisition. Then it was Destiny. Then it was the Overwatch Open Beta, and now here I am.**

 **But yeah, sorry about the wait for this. I'm easily distracted, I guess.**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Alien/Hunter and Hunted/Visions**

 **The Forsaken Sons**

 **Colony** _ **Tenacity's Reward**_ **, Zovenhein**

"Marshall Kellan, do you mean to tell us some unkown alien race has stolen away over seven-eighths of the colony?" Senator Kuisma asked, his voice distorted by the long-range transmission.

"That's exactly what I mean to tell you, Senator. I have an eyewitness, an empty town, and forty casualties, with no sign of the attacker or the remaining three-hundred sixty colonists." Kellan explained, his cyclopean helmet having been removed. "Honestly, I hardly believe it myself, but here I am."

"Very good, Marshall." Admiral Orlock said. "What of the survivor?"

"Girl, eleven years of age." Kellan described. "Says her father told her to hide in their home, so she ducked under the bed. The aliens thought her father was the only one home, so left without searching more."

The girl in question (Lucas hadn't been able to get a name from her) was sitting on a rock nearby, humming some children's song while swaying back and forth. She was still filthy, but Lucas had fed her some of his field rations, so she wasn't in danger of starving.

"Poor girl…" The elderly Senator Tanne muttered, shaking his head.

"And did she see the attackers?" Orlock asked. "Can she describe them?"

"She saw them, but she's still in shock, sir." Kellan explained. "She's going to need psychiatric treatment, and lots of it."

"We'll see to it she gets it." Senator Tanne stated resolutely.

"Thank you, Senator. Admiral, what are my orders?" Kellan asked Orlock.

"I've already alerted our naval and ground forces to be on guard. I'll send a ship for pickup immediately." Orlock said. "Once that ship arrives, I want you following these aliens. We are now in a Class-Grey situation, and will respond as such." He stopped for a moment. "Find our people, Lucas."

"Understood, Admiral." Kellan confirmed. "Shadow One-Eight out."

He turned to the girl, who looked up at him as the line went dead. She jumped off her rock, before walking up to him.

"Are we gonna leave?" She asked, looking him in the eyes. "I wanna leave."

"We're leaving." Lucas confirmed. "But we're going to have to go back through the town."

"D-do we have to?" Lucas sighed as she looked up at him, scared. "I don't wanna see… the sleeping people."

"The bodies." Lucas corrected. "You have to say their real name."

"But they're just sleeping!" She argued. "They're all asleep."

"No, they're dead." Lucas argued back, getting down on one knee. "And they're not coming back."

"But if they're not coming back…" She trailed off, looking over his shoulder. Her eyes were wide in awe.

' _Or is it terror?'_ Lucas thought, before rolling to his left.

The round aimed for his head instead hit the girl in the stomach, causing her to cry out in pain and collapse to the ground. Lucas reached for his knife, before another shot rang out. This time the round struck his shoulder, causing him to curse in pain, before he grabbed the knife and tore it from its sheath, hurling it underhand. It whirled through the cool morning air, making an ominous _wump wump wump_ sound, before striking his assailant in the stomach.

And bouncing off their armour with a resounding _clang_ , before landing in the grass at their feet.

"…Shit." Lucas muttered, before diving to the side as his opponent fired again.

This round, fortunately, went wide, striking a nearby tree. Lucas took the opportunity to dive forward in a tackle, slamming into his foe's legs, knocking them both to the ground. The assailant grabbed at their waist, going for some sort of blade, and Lucas hammered a fist into their helmeted head. They were wearing some sort of bright red armour plating that looked strangely plastic-like, only half of their face revealed.

The facial details that were visible were horrifying. Helghast-like, but yellow and brown, with a flat nose with four nostrils and a face covered in scars. It was snarling at him, while punching at his head with a five-fingered fist. Lucas tried to roll on top of it, but it rolled with him and ended up above him. It began hammering at him with its fist.

Lucas whistled loudly, as if hailing something, before pulling himself backwards and kicking the alien off of him with both feet. It huffed when it hit the ground, before rising to its feet. Lucas rolled backwards and stood, realizing his rifle was now behind the alien and his pistol had been knocked from his belt in the fight. It was lying several metres to his right. The alien succeeded in retrieving its own blade, a long knife easily fifty-five centimeters ***** in length. It snarled something at him, in a strange gravelly tone, before charging.

"Attack mode." Lucas said calmly, a beep confirming the order. "Engage."

A loud _drrrt_ rang out, thirty-plus rounds spitting from a small rotating chaingun and obliterating the alien's helmet and face, leaving it a bloody mess of viscera and chips of bone. A small white drone materialized, floating over Lucas' shoulder. It was mostly-circular in shape, maybe eighty centimeters in diameter. It turned to look at him with a singular blue eye set in a rectangular 'head' below the main body.

"Good shot." Lucas said, petting the drone like one would a pet.

It emitted a beeping noise and turned towards the girl, who was lying on the ground in a small pool of blood. Lucas swore, and broke into a run towards the girl.

"Deploy medical adrenaline, maximum dosage, and initiate medical examination." He said, the drone firing a small dart into the girl's neck before emitting a conical energy beam that it ran across the girl's prone form.

While it did that, Lucas retrieved his rifle and helmet, slinging the former over his shoulder and putting the latter on his head. When it was done, Lucas reached down and picked up the girl in his arms, holding her in a fireman's carry.

"Prep the ship for takeoff." He said, looking at the drone. "We're leaving…"

He looked over his shoulder at the alien's corpse, pondering for a moment.

"And we're bringing that thing with us."

 **The Old Regime**

 **Bridge of Turian Frigate** _ **Atelios**_

Saren Arterius looked over the command bridge of the _Atelios_ , watching the crew at work.

 **His** crew, he reminded himself. They were his to command now, a gift from the Hierarchy navy to their peoples' newest Spectre. An entire frigate, less than a year old, handed to him so he could complete his first mission.

And what a mission it was, he mused! Track down a new threat to the galaxy, in the form of an entirely new species, and convince them to come in and speak with the Council. Or, if that failed, report their position and then take the fight to them, avenging the lost souls of Watch-Fleet Forty-Two and showing these newcomers that one should not attack the Council and expect to get away with it.

Despite all his training to not do so, he dearly hoped it would be the second.

He had been following these ' _Eliksni'_ for several days, tracing Eezo emissions and heat trails through space, and believed he was on the verge of finding them. The _Atelios's_ long range scannershad picked up strange energy readings coming from a nearby uninhabited world.

"Sir, we have reached deployment range. Orders?" An ensign asked, still tapping away at his console.

"Ready a ground team. I want a full squad deploying with me." The Spectre ordered, before turning towards the lift to the hangar. "And be ready to withdraw us should this go wrong."

"Understood, sir." The ensign confirmed, before returning to tapping away at his console.

Saren stepped into the armory, seeing several soldiers equipping themselves with assault rifles and sidearms. They were clad in standard armour, with their face-obscuring helmets already donned. They stopped and saluted as he entered the room, before returning to their pre-battle preparations. Their commander, one Lieutenant Verrus, grabbed a shotgun before nodding to him.

"Spectre." He said. "You're going to want something bigger than that pea-shooter of yours."

"I'll be fine, lieutenant." Saren retorted. "This 'pea-shooter' has a higher muzzle velocity than any of your rifles. I could put down a charging Krogan in a second."

"All the same, these aliens' ships wiped out an entire Watch-Fleet in seconds." Verrus pointed out. "Who knows how powerful they'll be on foot."

"In any case, I have… other options." Saren stated, his right hand lighting up with blue energy.

The Lieutenant's eyes widened, his sub-vocals making clear his surprise.

"You're a biotic?" He asked, as though he could barely believe it.

"Indeed. Were you not informed?" Saren asked back.

"No, your files mentioned nothing about biotic capability." The Lieutenant admitted.

"I suppose the Council left that out for one reason or another." Saren said, before looking over the rest of his escort. "Lieutenant, I need to know how hungry your squad is for vengeance."

"They won't shoot if these aliens won't, sir." Verrus stated. "They're more curious than anything. Imagine, a whole new species… wonder what they'll bring to the table in terms of weaponry?"

"Whatever they use, it devastated Watch-Fleet Forty-Two in seconds." Saren pointed out. "It will be deadly, no doubts about that."

"Well, we're ready when you are, sir." Verrus said, shouldering his rifle.

"Move out." Saren replied, gesturing to the doors. "We have aliens to parley with."

 **Surface of planet designate G-1258**

The dropship was flying low, a mere three hundred meters above the ground, where it could actually see the surface through the violent dust-storms obscuring it from sight.

"ETA sixty seconds." The pilot reported, his voice grainy with static. "We should be entering visual right about… spirits..."

"Pilot, report!" Saren ordered. "What can you see?"

"It's a ship, sir. At least, it looks like a ship. It's huge… how is it this close to the surface?" The pilot wondered, even as he flew closer. "I'm seeing movement close to it. Going in for touchdown."

"Prepare for landing!" Saren ordered, the squad of Turian infantry removing harnesses and grabbing rifles. "Only fire if fired upon, but watch closely! These things took out an entire watch fleet in seconds!"

"Understood!" The squad replied, saluting.

"Landing in three… two… one… opening doors!" The dropship's two side hatches hissed as they opened, the planet buffeting them with gale force winds and clouds of dust the moment the squad disembarked.

"Get moving!" Saren had to shout to be heard over the wind, and the squad complied immediately, starting towards the alien vessel hovering over the surface.

After several minutes of struggling through the dust and wind, they found themselves beneath the ship. Without warning, dozens of blue dots lit up all around them, and the alien's whose ship it was entered visual range.

There were over a dozen, each a four armed monster approximately two meters tall, stooped over as they were. They likely would have towered over the Turian's had they been standing up straight. Each had four arms, two emerging from the shoulders like a Turian while two more seemed to emerge from their upper back. Each ended in a four-fingered hand, wrapped around either a strange rifle or… swords?

Yes, several of the aliens were wielding two single bladed swords, crackling with what seemed to be electricity. They were all wearing the same bone white armour in the form of a chestplate, armguards and a helmet protecting their face and four eyes. Their mouths were had two mandibles, and were filled with razor sharp teeth. They all wore dark red capes that were flapping in the wind. They were growling in some guttural language, too quiet for Saren to discern any individual words.

"Who are you?" One of their number growled, Saren's helmet translating the words into Turian. "What you want?"

"I am Saren Arterius." Saren stated, pressing a hand to his chest. "Spectre of the Citadel Council."

"Spec… ter?" One muttered, trying out the word. "Shadow of Death?"

"I am not a ghost, if that is what you ask." The Eliksni all snarled at the word ghost, and one stepped close.

"You are Deathshade!" It accused. "Servant of traitor god!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Saren replied. "I serve the Citadel Council!"

"Lies!" Another Eliksni howled. "Only a Deathshade would accept title Shadow of Death!"

"He is warrior of traitor!" A third shouted. "Deathshade! Deathshade!"

The rest of the Eliksni took up the chant, howling 'Deathshade! Deathshade! Deathshade!' over and over. They began to close in, and even more of their kind emerged from the dust, accompanied by small floating machines with two propellers and a small gun that swiveled beneath their red-painted bodies. These were silent, other than a droning noise that was nearly drowned out by the wind.

"Stop!" Saren shouted, his hands lighting up blue with his biotics. "Or I will attack!"

They did not stop, and so Saren lashed out with a mass effect field, blasting several of them away with a shockwave that hurled them aside like children's toys in a storm.

Then all hell broke loose.

The Turians opened fire, mass accelerator rounds whipping through the air and cutting down the Eliksni, who all howled a war cry and charged. Slow-moving spheres of blue energy traveled through the air, first dissolving on contact kinetic barriers, but once those collapsed, the shots began causing spontaneous seizures where they struck. The Turians hit would howl in pain and collapse as the sudden rush of electricity burned their skin and caused intense muscle spasms.

One of the Eliksni got into melee range, and his twin swords lashed out with intense speed and severed the arm of one soldier before another gunned him down with a burst of rounds.

Saren was a force of nature, the eye of the storm. He was hurling warp and throw fields with gusto, blasting away Eliksni warriors left and right. One dared to enter melee combat with him, and a biotic kick to the chest soon taught it the error of its ways. It's armour crumpled and it was hurled backwards by the force of the blow, slamming into one of its fellows.

Lieutenant Verrus' shotgun roared, and an Eliksni was sent backwards missing the top half of its head. It's associate rushed in with swords raised, only to have its chest cavity opened up by a second blast.

"Turians, to me!" Saren shouted, blasting away with his pistol and throwing warp fields. "We're leaving!"

"Copy that!" Verrus shouted back, blasting away another charging Eliksni.

Saren holstered his pistol as the squad backed up, before facing down the oncoming Eliksni. Both of his hands lit up a bright blue, the light growing more and more intense as he drew them back, before thrusting forwards. Two enormous waves of biotic energy hurtled forwards, hurling Eliksni into the air like the dust around them. Dozens were absorbed by the wave of pure biotic energy, before Saren turned and ran.

The remnants of the squad wasted no time returning to the drop ship, the small vessel lifting off even as Eliksni opened fire from below. Shots pinged off the hull, but the electric charge appeared to have no effect on the ship's overall functionality.

Saren sat down heavily in one of the harnesses, pulling off his helmet and hurling it aside.

"How many dead, lieutenant?" He asked, looking to Verrus.

"Six, sir, and Marneus has a stab wound in his gut. Damn those Eliksni!" The lieutenant swore, sitting down in another harness.

Saren only leaned back, sighing and wondering what he was supposed to tell the Council.

 **Imperial Ascendant**

Eight hooded figures stood in a circle around a raised stone pedestal, all clad in heavy blue robes lined with gold. They all had their heads bowed and their hands clasped together, facing inwards. Upon the pedestal were strange symbols etched in gold, with the repeating imagery of an open eye set within a diamond. The room they stood in was gloomy, with small candles on the pedestal and across the floor providing the only light.

A door at the far end of the room shunted open, revealing a ninth figure. He too was clad in robes, though these were without sleeves. They were opened along the front, revealing a blue ceramite cuirass that was also marked with golden symbols, including the eye pattern again. In his hand was a staff topped with a golden ankh, once again set with a blue eye. Atop the ankh were two horns banded with gold.

He stepped between two of the robed men and onto the pedestal, raising his staff into the air. A light breeze began to stir, causing the candlelight to flicker and dance and the shadows to twist. The man raised the staff higher, and the breeze grew stronger, extinguishing some of the weaker candle flames and rustling the fabric of the circle's robes. The runes on the pedestal began glowing as the circle itself began muttering strange, nonsensical words.

Then the man in the centre hammered the staff into the ground, and the winds grew to gale force. No candle was extinguished, however, but their flames were instead lifted into the air and whirled around the room in a stream of fire and smoke. The circle lifted their voices as one, and raised their hands as they chanted the words aloud. One word was repeated frequently.

"Ahriman!" The men were calling. "Ahriman!"

The man in the center was holding the staff with both hands, looking to be holding on for dear life as glimpsed shards of images and words flashed through his mind. He redoubled his efforts, striking the ground again. The winds grew stronger still, and the chanting grew louder. A thousand smells filled the air, gun smoke and rotting fruit and freshly fallen rain and lapping powder and incense.

The man in the centre released the staff, and spread his arms wide. Instead of falling, both man and staff were lifted into the air, floating several feet of the ground. And then the visions became clearer.

A golden silhouette, with a halo above his head, was driving back the shadows around him with great sweeps of a flaming sword. Behind him lurked four more shadows, however, in the shapes of some great bird, a tremendously fat man, a bull dripping some liquid, and an alluring woman. None of them were disintegrating like the other shadows, but were instead looming over the golden man.

Then five new figures appeared beside the golden man. They were red, black, burgundy, grey and purple, each wielding some weapon. The red held two axes, dripping with blood, while the black wielded a sword. The burgundy instead had some great tome in his hands, while the grey held a hammer. The purple drew a sword of gold that flamed like the golden silhouette's own blade, and together they charged the four shadows.

But the shadows, instead of running, all held their ground. The bull brayed loudly, and the red silhouette disappeared. The bird shrieked, and the burgundy silhouette disintegrated. The woman whispered, and the purple was no more. Then the fat man laughed and the grey was gone. The black and the gold both continued their charge, but a winged shadow with three eyes appeared and cut down the black with a jagged blade.

The gold fell to its knees, the flaming sword extinguished, and the four shadows moved in. Then the winged shadow stepped forwards, driving back the other four with its sword, before turning to the gold. The gold took up its blade and charged the winged shadow, who charged as well. Their blades met, fire and darkness, and both shattered in a blinding explosion.

Then the man fell from the air and crashed into the ground, the staff following as the winds stopped. The circle was blown back, crashing into the walls. The man on the pedestal rose shakily to his feet, grasping the staff in both hands, while the circle also regained their footing.

"W-what did you see?" One man gasped, looking to the man in the centre, who was silent.

"Betrayal and treachery." The man decided. "I saw betrayal."

"Lord Ahriman…" Another man began. "What do we do now?"

"We heed the call of our Emperor." Ahriman replied, looking to Captain Kalophis. "We go to the Palace of Terra."

 **AN: Once again, I'm very sorry about the wait for this chapter. I hope it was worth it, and if it wasn't, please tell me why.**

 **Have a lovely day.**


	3. Chapter 2

Breaking the Cycle

 **AN: (Insert random gibberish that is only tangentially related to the story here)**

 **Chapter 2**

 **Declaration/Champion/A Search for Answers**

 **The Old Regime**

 **Turian Frigate** _ **Atelios**_

Spectre Saren Arterius was not looking forward to this. He was nursing a massive headache from biotic exhaustion, his side still burned from a glancing hit from one of the Eliksni's weapons, and now he had to explain to the Council exactly why they could expect the Eliksni to attack them on site.

He stepped into the _Atelios_ ' communications room, where the orange holograms of the aforementioned governing body awaited him. He cleared his throat, before saluting.

 _This will end badly._ He thought to himself.

 **Council Meeting Chambers, The Citadel**

"Councilors." He said.

"Spectre Arterius." Councilor Tevos greeted, nodding her head. "What happened down there?"

"Things were bad, Councilors." Saren replied. "The Eliksni believed me to be some figure from their culture. When I told them I was a Spectre, they began to call me 'Deathshade', and accuse me of serving a 'traitor god'. They attacked me and my squad, and I lost six men."

"'Traitor God'?" Councilor Sallin repeated. "What could possess them to believe you serve a traitorous god?"

"The word 'specter' has negative connotations in many languages, Sparatus." Tevos replied. "Perhaps to the Eliksni a specter is something hated?"

"Whatever the reason, the Eliksni now hate us." Sallin interjected. "We need to warn our people to be wary of them."

"No." Sparatus growled, causing his fellows to look at him, both surprised. "The Turian Hierarchy will mobilize its armies. These Eliksni want war between us, then war they shall have."

"Sparatus…" Tevos began, before the Turian cut her off.

"No, Tevos. We tried your diplomatic solution, and they chose to attack our envoy." Sparatus interrupted, snarling. "They brought it to this, not us."

"We could send others, more envoys-" Tevos was cut off again.

"NO!" Sparatus shouted, glaring at her. "We will have vengeance!"

"Why do you want this, Sparatus?" Tevos asked, desperate. "Why do you want a war so badly?"

"BECAUSE THEY KILLED MY SON!" Sparatus roared, driving his fists into the table.

"What?" Tevos was shocked.

"Read the casualty lists." Sparatus sighed, slumping. "Watch Fleet Forty Two consisted of three ships; the cruiser _Mallarus_ , as well as the frigates _Initium_ and _Gallaros_. _Mallarus_ was commanded by a veteran officer, Captain Barrus Adar. The _Initium_ and _Gallaros_ were commanded by Captains Venatius Corrin and Tyrios Avitos."

"Tyrius… he was…" Sallin's eyes grew wide as he remembered.

"My firstborn son." Sparatus finished. "My pride and joy, passed through officer's training with flying colours, top of his class in ship command. The _Gallaros_ was his first command. And then the Eliksni killed him, and his men, in a moment."

"Sparatus… I'm so sorry…" Tevos stepped closer to the Turian councilor.

"Save your pity." He snarled. "It's blood I want, not tears."

"Sparatus, you cannot let anger consume you." Tevos said. "We can still salvage this."

"No." Sparatus repeated. "I've already given the order. All Turian ships will have received it by now; all Eliksni are to be recognized as hostile, and will be treated as such."

"You can't simply-" This time, it was Sallin who was cut off mid sentence.

"What? Take action to defend my people?" Sparatus asked. "What would you have us do? Observe them as they kill more? No. I did what was necessary to preserve this galaxy and its people, and I have no regrets."

He turned to exit the room, resulting in Tevos beginning to step in front of him.

"Move, Tevos." He hissed, scowling.

"No." Tevos replied. "You have declared war without consulting this council, a punishable offence against the law you and your kind are sworn to uphold."

"Then who will enforce it?" Sparatus asked, the scowl still present. "You?"

"Yes." Tevos replied, before biotically blasting Sparatus across the room.

He hit the opposite wall with his back, his head slamming into the metal and knocking him unconscious. Saren looked furious, while Sallin stood expressionless. Tevos didn't care, both had proven useless in their current situation.

"Now then, Spectre Arterius, you are to return to the Citadel as soon as possible, for a formal debriefing." Her voice was deathly calm, even as she walked toward the inert form of Sparatus. "Sallin, we need STG teams on constant alert for Eliksni movement. Every man you can spare."

"Of course." Sallin agreed, bringing a hand to his ear. "Shall I redeploy units from the Cabal front?"

"No." Tevos replied, reaching the unconscious Turian Councilor. "Anyone you can spare, but the Cabal remain the bigger threat."

It was then that Captain Anemos, the Salarian STG officer who had initially briefed them on the Eliksni situation, burst into the room. He took in the image of the Asari Councilor standing over an unconscious Sparatus with surprising quickness, giving his report after only a moment's hesitation.

"Councilors, there's been a development." He said, saluting.

"Report, captain." Tevos said, turning.

"There's an Eliksni ship currently requesting permission to dock, Councilors." The STG captain reported. "Commanded by one Nakos, Kell of Dawn."

Tevos was silent for a moment, before she began to walk to the entrance.

"Permission granted. Send them to my offices after putting them through the standard security… no, belay that order. I'll meet them myself. Send them to Bay E-13."

"Understood ma'am." Anemos said, saluting again.

"Allina," Tevos began, putting a hand to her ear and opening a communications channel with the head of her guard. "Get to Docking Bay E-13, ASAP. Sidearms only, no long-arms, but come in armour."

" _At once, Councilor."_ The Commando replied. _"Can I ask what the occasion is?"_

"First… no, second official contact." Tevos explained. "Though I hope this one will end with less violence then the last attempt."

" _Sounds like fun."_ Allina laughed. _"We'll be ready in five."_

"Thank you." Tevos said, before closing the link and turning to Anemos. "Same goes for your troops. Sidearms only."

"Understood." Anemos repeated.

As he turned to leave, he turned back once more.

"If it's all the same to you, I'll be keeping a sniper on over watch above the hangar." He whispered conspiratorially.

Tevos smiled for the first time in an hour. "I would expect nothing less."

 **Imperial Ascendant**

 **Castle Sycorax, Ancient Polas, Terra**

The blade flashed toward him in a silver blur, its edge cutting the air itself in its passing. Another sword rose to intercept it. This one was larger, the blade thicker, and the first blade ran down its length with a keening wail, a blue-white spark flying from their point of collision.

Like lightning, as second blow came, the first blade whirling around and striking to towards his head. His left arm came up in an interception, the small shield attached to his armguard deflecting the blow even as his own sword came down in a punishing arc.

His attacker leapt back, his blade cutting naught but the crisp fall air, before he brought it back up in a second strike, this time aiming for his attackers legs or groin. A boot struck the blade, kicking it aside, but he took advantage of the temporary imbalance of his opponent and rushed forwards, bashing their face with the shield.

The attacker fell back, blood streaming from an aquiline nose that was now bent out of shape. He pressed the advantage, bringing the blade towards their neck. They raised their sword to parry, but their strength failed them, and the weapon was sent spinning from their hand. He stepped towards them again, knocking them over with his shoulder.

The hit the ground hard, reaching for their blade, but before they could react, there was a sword to their neck, the point pressing into their Adam's Apple. They groaned in pain.

"Alright, brother, that's that. You win." Sammael admitted, looking Belial in the eyes. "Help me up."

"You still strike too early, brother." Belial said, pulling his blade away. "You should observe your foe before striking."

"But for every moment I spend observing them, they observe me." Sammael argued, still on the ground. "Better to strike fast then strike late."

"I'm not getting drawn into this argument again." Belial said, stretching a hand towards his closest friend. "You'll never admit you're wrong."

"And you'll never admit I'm more right than you can accept." Sammael retorted, taking the offered hand. "Anyhow, that makes the score even now, right?"

"As if!" Belial almost laughed. "I'm one over you."

"Damn it all." Sammael cursed. "We'll duel again on the 'morrow?"

"Of course." Belial agreed, looking to the grand stone tower looming over them. "As of now, however, it is likely Lord Luther seeks our attendance to the Circle meeting."

"Oh, bugger the Circle meeting." Sammael replied, spitting into the dust. "It'll just be the usual rubbish; Balthasar will try to keep everyone calm while Asmodai rages about some slight and Ezekiel broods in some corner and everyone else stands around being useless. Oh, and Azrael will be there too, I suppose."

Belial actually did laugh at that, a hearty chuckle, full of life. "You're probably right, but still, we will need to attend. There's to be good wine, fresh from the vineyards in Old Frank."

"Truly?" Sammael asked, wide eyed. "Well then, let's be off!"

The two made their way through the monastery-turned-fortress that the First Legion called home. The courtyard they had just dueled in was full of sparring legionaries, each ring containing two warriors and often surrounded by several more, either shouting encouragement or criticism. Within one of the larger rings two warriors fought, their ferocity made all the more clear by the utter silence they dueled in. Belial stopped here for a moment, observing.

"Zahariel and Nemiel?" Sammael asked his brother.

"The very same." Belial answered, his eyes not moving from the spectacle before him.

"They started well before we did!" Sammael said, surprised.

"They're perfectly matched though." Belial pointed out, gesturing to the two legionaries.

His words rung true, Sammael thought. Both warriors were fast, strong and deadly, the pride of the legion's drill masters. Not that they were told that, of course. Undue pride was an attribute of the Third Legion, not the First. Instead of cheers and praise, the best of their warriors were rewarded with nods of approval and helpful criticism pointing out flaws.

"Belial! Sammael!" The two were hailed from across the courtyard, drawing the eyes of all but those sparring to their position. "You're going to be late!"

There was Lord Luther, looking upon the two of them with disapproval.

The lord of the First Legion was a rare case, as he was no Space Marine. The First had been drawn from the knights of The Order, a host of warriors who had hunted the strange mutated wildlife of Polas throughout the Age of Strife, defending its people and serving as a beacon of hope throughout The Long Night. It had been Luther who had led them when The Emperor and his Thunder Warriors came, and it had been Luther who had accepted The Emperors offer of immortality.

Now The Order was the basis for the First Astartes Legion of Terra, and Luther was its Praetor, its commander. However, there had been a catch. Luther was too old to become an Astartes, his body unable to accept the gene-seed and undergo the modifications. Instead, the Emperor himself had changed Luther. He would never be Astartes, but he would be the closest possible compromise.

Now Luther stood several inches taller than the average man, easily two meters in height. His arms and legs were banded by muscle, the kind that a regular man could only achieve through years of rigorous training, and his body was near immune to most diseases and blights that could bring the best mortal to their knees. He wasn't a Space Marine, but he was several steps above a normal man in every regard.

"Coming, sir!" Belial called back, Sammael doing much the same.

The two of them made their way through their battle brothers, ignoring looks from the crowd as Belials bulk pressed them aside. Once they realized who they were glowering at, however, they bowed their heads in respect of the commanders of the eleventh and twelfth companies.

After less than a minute they were in the presence of their commander who, despite his being a head shorter than they, seemed to tower over them both.

"Terra preserve us you two, how many times must I repeat it?" Luther began. "Attendance to Circle meetings is NOT optional. You are required to show up, or else you are punished in whatever way myself and the rest of the Circle can think of."

"Of course, Lord Luther." Belial apologized. "We were simply observing Brothers Zahariel and Nemiel in their duel."

"Those two are at it again?" Luther asked, his voice softened somewhat. "Every day, without fail... anyhow, the Circle awaits. Let us be off."

The two company commanders followed their praetor into the keep, the eyes of several hundred battle brothers following them before the vast oaken doors slammed shut. Then they returned to their sparring, the sounds of blades clashing and men shouting returning with haste. And above them all, atop a stone battlement, a lone warrior donning a hood of black wool watched, his eyes scanning the courtyard.

"The Raven and the Wraith follow their lord into the meeting." He whispered, his voice a deep, mysterious growl. "I await your command."

He remained silent a moment, before nodding once.

"It will be as you say." He said to nothing, before his hand grasped the ornate golden revolver at his side. "They will-"

Then, he froze a moment, before his hand slowly fell away back to his side.

"Very well." He spoke again, looking to the heavens. "I will obey my lords. I am returning now."

And with that, he disappeared, sinking into a pool of shadow that formed beneath his feet.

 **The Forsaken Sons**

 **Helghast Flagship** _ **The Chancellor's Voice**_ **, Helghen System**

Lucas was drinking really, REALLY shitty kafee.

He had no idea who had decided the only drink that was better than fresh water should be so horrible, especially aboard a ship so prestigious. Honestly, he had made better cups of kafee on battlefields. His mind flashed back to the fields of Drasden, where he had first drawn blood. Oh, the kafee that one sergeant could whip up, even in that muddy hell hole… the memory almost made his current cup taste better.

He looked around from the bench he was seated on, taking in the people all drinking and eating and laughing and enjoying their time off. He was seated in the corner, given a wide berth by the crew, who recognized him as one of the hyper-lethal 'Shadow Marshals'. He hadn't been this shunned since boot camp, and it was making him depressed.

He only pondered that thought a moment, before shrugging another bitter, weak mouthful of kafee. He didn't particularly need companionship right now. No, Lucas decided, what he needed was a decent cup of Kafee. And he needed it ASAP. He rose from his seat, leaving the mug where it sat, and set off. On his way out he pulled his helmet on, the red eyepiece blinking once before lighting up red.

It only took him a few minutes to realize he was absolutely, completely lost. _The Chancellor's Voice_ was a vast ship, over two kilometers in length, and he now had no idea where in those two kilometers he was currently positioned. He whistled, and North, his OWL drone, appeared over his shoulder.

"North, search your databases for a map of _The Chancellor's Voice_ , and link it to my HUD." He ordered, looking at the white machine.

It bleeped in response, singular blue eye blinking, before it tilted upwards slightly. After several moments it bleeped again and looked at him. His eyepiece blinked once, signaling that the data was downloading, before his vision was taken up by a three-dimensional diagram of the ship, marking his position with a red dot.

"Alright, let's see… officer's quarters should have better refreshments, and I am TECHNICALLY a captain, so…" He scanned the map quickly. "Third deck, alright. Come on North, we're off to find some half-decent kafee."

Once more he began to stride down the hallway, towards the elevators. He passed several crew members, most of whom saluted him whilst looking terrified. He silently laughed at the one who gaped at him as he passed and ended up walking into a bulkhead, falling over.

He found the elevator after a few minutes, hitting the 'up' button and awaiting its arrival. A security officer in a blue combat vest and combat mask looked up at him, eyes wide, as they waited together. She was joined by two crewmen, both of whom also unabashedly watched him.

"If you keep staring, I might even do a trick." His voice was a growl thanks to the helmet's modifier.

All three of them yipped as he turned his head towards them, looking like children caught by their mother while stealing snacks. The security officer's hand went for her pistol for a moment, but his own hand rested on the hilt of his knife, and she ceased that gesture immediately.

"If you're quite done, the elevator should be arriving… now." Just as he finished his sentence the doors slid open, a deck officer saluting him and stepping out.

He gestured for them to enter first, and none of them broke eye contact as they walked in. He followed and hit the button for the third deck, and the elevator doors closed as they began their descent.

The space was silent as the crew waited in fearful silence, before the atmosphere was shattered by… laughter?

Lucas was chuckling, the sound far deeper than it was supposed to be. He couldn't hold it in anymore, and the crew looked on in confusion as his façade of grimness broke down into laughter.

"Your faces!" He managed to say, leaning against the wall and laughing even harder. "You looked like I had you at gunpoint!"

The security officer smiled unsurely, before beginning to snigger as well. The crewmen looked at them like they had gone mad, while the two soldiers just laughed on and on.

"What is happening?" One of the crewmen asked the other, voice hushed.

"I don't know." The other replied. "Just keep eye contact."

Lucas finally stopped after almost a minute, catching his breath and chortling a bit more. The doors finally slid open and the two crewmen practically sprinted from the elevator, to the confusion of several waiting security officers. Lucas followed them, leaving behind the lone security trooper as he walked down the hall, half-cape swirling behind him.

He found the officer's lounge after several minutes of walking and looking stoic, tapping the code into the door and trying to look like he didn't have a meter-wide drone doing the actual work as North hacked the keypad. It eventually slid open, allowing him entrance.

He removed his helmet once he was inside, revealing pale white skin and brown eyes, before he walked towards the kafee dispenser. He placed a small foam cup underneath the main nozzle and hit the button, noting the scent of this brew was significantly more pleasant than that he had consumed downstairs. He grabbed the cup after a few seconds and took a seat on a padded bench off to the side.

He took the first sip and felt the strong, bitter beverage flow over his tongue, sighing after he swallowed. He chuckled again when he realized what an odd image his current situation must make, before taking another sip and sighing again.

Now THAT was a cup of bloody kafee.

His mind wandered as he relaxed, his heavily conditioned thinking process rerunning everything that had happened in the past day and filing it appropriately, dumping the information he deemed useless and holding on to the more important stuff, like the question of whether or not it was a waste of resources to track down the plantation that grew this machine's beans and set up a private order, or the snippet of information he had picked up that perhaps Senator Kastavi's marriage wasn't as happy as he said it was and how exploitable it would be.

Then his mind returned to the mystery at Tenacity's Reward, and he sighed. That was going to be a shitshow and a half, and he was not looking forward to weathering it. He could already see the headlines.

"'Entire colony missing! Was it a government cover-up?'" He muttered to himself in a poor imitation of a newscaster's voice. "I'm probably gonna get the blame in any official history books too. 'Shadow Marshal Lucas Kellan; traitor to his people or just lazy?'. Maybe students will debate over my loyalties… yeah, that'd be neat."

" _Shadow 1-8?"_ His musings were interrupted by a burst of noise from his helmet. _"Shadow 1-8, do you copy?"_

He pulled on the helmet, setting aside his half-empty cup, before replying.

"I read you, Command. What's the situation?" He asked, rising from the bench.

" _It's the girl, Shadow."_ The voice of Admiral Orlock told him. _"She's awoken, but she refuses to speak to anyone except for you."_

"Copy that, Admiral." Lucas said, immediately increasing his speed as he left the lounge. "On my way."

 **AN: Well, hopefully the timing of this update is a little more acceptable. My thanks to all my reviewers for the kind words (and the crash course in Legion formation from The God Emperor of Mankind himself).**

 **As a side note, if you have a question on anything, leave a review or shoot me a PM, I'm happy to answer at any time (within reason). I love interacting with readers, especially when I get to flex my dictionary. (Almost an innuendo there, but I think I avoided it.)**

 **Anyhow, thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed, follow. If you really enjoyed, favourite and leave a review telling me why.**

 **Have a lovely day.**


	4. Chapter 3

Breaking the Cycle

 **AN: HOLY SHIT IT'S BEEN A MONTH I'M SO SORRY BUT EXAMS ARE AN ASSHOLE TO DEAL WITH HERE'S MORE PLEASE DON'T KILL ME.**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Senator/Daybreak**

 **The Forsaken Children**

"NO!" Lucas rounded the corner just in time to intercept a sprinting eight year old girl wearing an infirmary gown, catching her with his hands as he quickly crouched to maintain his balance.

"WHOA there, slow down." He said, holding her by the shoulders in the same way he had when they first met.

She certainly looked better than when he had carried her into his ship. She was actually clean now, her long black hair brushed and practically shining. Her eyes were less bloodshot and glazed as she looked up at him, features set in a stony scowl.

"LET ME…" Her voice grew quieter as she realized who had just caught her. "Mr. Shadow! You came to visit!"

"I did." Lucas lied, leaving out the part where he was under orders. "Now then, what's the problem?

"They wanna put the pointy things in me!" She said, pointing at the two medical specialists who had been chasing her a moment before. They looked at the newly arrived Shadow Marshal with wide, fearful eyes. One of them, a younger man, spoke up.

"Sir, it's a standard sedative to help her-" Lucas cut the man off mid sentence.

"Hold up there a sec, you're sedating an eight year old?" He asked, rising to his full height.

"It's a small dose, sir." The doctor explained. "It'll put her to sleep, she needs the rest."

Lucas looked at the doctor, before looking down at the girl. He pondered for a moment, before crouching back down so he was at eye level.

"Alright, listen kid." He began. "That needle will help you sleep."

"But I don't wanna sleep!" She said, stomping. "I've gotta find mommy, and Will!"

"That's my job, kid." Lucas explained. "I'm going to find your family, but I can't do that if I have to keep an eye on you. So you need to sleep."

"But… but…" Lucas put a gloved finger to her lips.

"No buts." He interrupted. "You need your rest."

"Do you promise to find Will and mom? And bring them back?" She asked, looking him in the eyes.

Lucas was silent for a second, before answering.

"I promise." He said. "I'll find Will and your mother, and the rest of your settlement as well."

"…okay." She sighed, turning towards the doctors. "I'll go to sleep."

 _Thank you,_ the younger doctor mouthed, before taking the girl's hand. "Let's go kid."

Lucas sighed once they were out of earshot, leaning against the closest wall.

"Parenting's a tough job, isn't it?" A voice spoke from behind him.

He whirled around, hand instinctively going to his sidearm, before he realized he was about to pull a gun on Senator Tanne. The eldest of Helghen's leaders was currently standing only a few feet away, and Lucas instinctively saluted.

"None of that please, Lucas. We know each other too well to bother with such trifles." Tanne said, as Lucas loosened up slightly. "That's a good man."

"What are you doing here, sir?" Lucas asked.

"I was hoping to meet the only girl who survived the destruction and stealing of Tenacity's Reward." Tanne replied. "Unfortunately, it seems I arrived a little too late."

"I'm sure the staff could wake her-" Lucas was cut off.

"No, no, no!" Tanne said hurriedly. "I don't want to disturb the poor girl. She has enough to worry about without some old codger asking her questions about the death of her family."

"Of course sir." Lucas replied, nodding. "Is there anything I can do for you, while you're here?"

"If your OWL could direct me to the officer's lounge, I would be most grateful." Tanne said, nodding to North. "I've gotten directions, but my memory isn't what it used to be."

"Yes, senator." Lucas confirmed, before turning to North. "North, pull up a map and direct the senator to the officer's lounge."

North pulled up the same diagram he had last time, and the small box representing the officer's lounge lit up orange. Tanne looked at it for a moment, before turning to Lucas.

"Please, join me." The senator offered, Lucas nodding in response.

The two made their way through the halls, Tanne waiting a few moments in silence before asking Lucas the question he had almost hoped the Senator wouldn't ask.

"How have you been since I last saw you?" He asked, looking at the taller man.

"Fine. Until yesterday, I was mostly patrolling our borders. Now I'm hunting for a lost colony." Lucas answered. "And I've got no idea where to look."

"Don't worry my boy, we have half the fleet on the lookout for the people of Tenacity's reward. We'll find them." Tanne reassured, Lucas only nodding. "Besides, we've effectively doubled the garrison of every colony. If these things come back, they'll be in for a hard fight."

"That may not be enough." Lucas warned. "I've gone over the surveillance feed; these things ripped through our security forces in minutes."

"These aren't just colonial militia, Lucas." Tanne replied. "These are trained Assault Divisions, veteran units from the Vektan war."

"Still-" The Senator interrupted him.

"And Colonel Raddick is commanding the defensive operations." Tanne continued.

"They've got him on the field?" Lucas asked, turning to Tanne with wide eyes beneath his helmet. "I thought he had been given command of the Helghen Planetary Defense Force and the Palace Guard?"

"He volunteered." Tanne explained. "He has family in the colonies."

"Still, after all he's done…" Lucas trailed off, memories of old lessons in military history flowing through his mind. "Leading the assault on the Capital, assassinating General Sinclair… I expected him to just retire."

"He's thirty-three years old, Lucas." Tanne replied. "He won't be retiring for a long time."

Lucas nodded, before suddenly putting a hand to his ear.

"Come again, sir?" He said.

"Pardon me for a moment." He apologized, before turning away for a moment. "They've found what?"

He stood for several seconds, listening intently, before speaking again.

"Understood." He nodded, before turning back to Tanne. "I'm afraid this is where we part ways, Senator. We've got a lead."

Tanne grasped Lucas by the upper arm as the Shadow Marshal turned away, drawing his attention back to the Senator.

"Godspeed, Lucas. Bring them back." Tanne ordered.

"I will, sir." Lucas replied, saluting.

As Lucas broke into a run down the corridor towards the elevator, Tanne jolted slightly before reaching into his uniform's breast pocket, eyes wide. He pulled out a small data drive, barely the size of his thumb, and looked at it for a second.

"Dammit!" He cursed, a rare occurrence for the typically soft spoken politician. "I knew I forgot something!"

 **The Old Regime**

 **Docking Bay E-13, The Citadel**

The docking bay was absolutely packed with people from all around the galaxy, eager to see these new arrivals. Camera drones flew overhead as reports chattered with civilians, most of whom looked with wide eyes at the Eliksni ship, which was easily Dreadnaught sized. The hull was mostly orange, with yellow highlights marking hatches and the like.

Salarians, Turians, Asari, Volus, Hanar, even a few Quarians or Batarians were visible in the crowd, all shouting and talking and laughing and even, in some cases, sobbing. It was an absolute mess that C-Sec struggled to control, keeping the main walkway clear but little else. Blue armoured constables stood watch over the great horde of civilians, reporters and anyone else who wanted to see the new kids on the block.

Tevos sighed as she looked upon the chaos, wondering how she was supposed to conduct first-contact with all this noise. The C-Sec officer in charge, Executor Vaddius, reassured her that the walkway would stay clear but he couldn't make any promises about keeping the people quiet.

She was snapped from her thoughts by the sound of the Eliksni ship's main boarding ramp grinding open, the lip of the door thudding to the ground after about twenty seconds. The whole crowd went quiet as yellow lights lit up within the shadows of the ship's hold, dozens of them. Then, a lone figure stepped down the ramp, his footsteps echoing through the silent docking bay.

Nakos, Kell of Dawn, was quite large.

That was the first observation Tevos made about the Eliksni lord, when he first stepped from the ramp of his 'Ketch', as the Eliksni named it. He towered over even his fellows, easily two and a half meters tall. He also had four arms, each ending with a three fingered hand. He was clad in armour of a dull yellow, while a cape fluttered in the breeze behind him. The cape was a warm, welcoming orange that invoked thoughts of, as was likely the intention, sunrise.

His head was adorned with a face concealing orange helmet with four glowing yellow eyes, and two curved wing-like shapes above the brow that swooped across the temples and ended a few centimeters past the back of his head. The four eyes scanned the room, before setting on Tevos. He let out a quiet growl that caused Allina to reach for her pistol, before Tevos put a hand on her arm.

" _Don't."_ She whispered, before stepping forward and curtsying. "Greetings, Kell Nakos of the Dawn. I am Tevos, Citadel Councilor and representative of the Asari."

The Kell looked at her for a second, before going down onto one knee and crossing all four arms over his chest. The upper pair's hands were clenched fists, while the bottom pair remained open and flat against his breastplate.

"I am Nakos of House Dawn." He replied, his voice a rich baritone that boomed through the docking bay. "Greetings, Tevos of House Asari."

"You speak our language?" She asked, shocked. "Without a translator?"

"Servitor translates." He replied, gesturing behind himself.

A floating ball of purple light slowly bobbed forwards, a meter above the ground, before a large sphere of metal emerged from the shadows of the Ketch. A single purple circle in the center appeared to serve as the eye, while three metal 'arms' extended from the body for a moment as the ball rotated on the spot.

"Is this a servitor?" She asked, hand waving towards the ball.

"Yes." Nakos answered, nodding once as he stood. "Servitor reads your language, translates, and turns our speech to yours."

"Fascinating." She replied, looking at the Servitor a little longer, before turning back to the Kell. "Shall we retreat to a more… private room for discussion?"

She gestured to the hordes of reporters and civilians all gaping at the enormous Kell, who laughed in response. The laugh was a hearty chuckle that ended after several seconds, before Nakos turned to Tevos.

"Very well." He replied, voice full of mirth. "Let us go to these rooms, Tevos of House Asari."

And with that, Kell and Councilor began to walk down the main walkway, which hundreds of civilians swarmed around. A lone camera drone swooped in low, evidently trying to get a close-up of the Kell's face, but Nakos grasped it with his upper arms as it came close, snatching it from the sky.

Tevos watched as he examined the machine, peering into the eye lens, before handing it to one of his fellow Eliksni, a creature of smaller stature. It drew a knife from its belt, drawing cries of shock from the crowd, and tapped the side of the drone's main body. Electricity flashed between knife and drone, and the drone fell silent as its engines died. The smaller Eliksni threw the drone over his shoulder, where it was caught by a third Eliksni who raised it into the air in one of his hands.

"Who?" He asked the crowd, shouting. "Who is this belonging to?"

"Here, sir, that's mine!" A Salarian called, raising his hand. "Over here!"

The Eliksni walked towards the man, slipping in between two C-Sec officers who protested his passing, but ceased when he growled at them. He reached the Salarian when the rest of the crowd drew back from his approach. He handed the rather terrified looking Salarian his drone back, the man nearly dropping it when it was handed to him.

"Shock knife shut off." The Eliksni explained. "Just turn on again, and it will work."

"Th-thank you sir." The Salarian stuttered, looking in the eyes of the much larger man.

"Do not fly machine towards Kell's face again," The Eliksni said. "And we will call equal."

"Of-of course sir." The Salarian nodded frantically, as the Eliksni leaned in closer.

"Good," The Eliksni said, voice little more than a growl.

The Salarian let out a 'meep' of terror as the Eliksni finished his sentence.

"Or I will have to kill you."

The Salarian slowly backed away, eyes wide in horror as the Eliksni reared back its head and… laughed?

It was emitting a noise that approximated laughter, at least. The Salarian's horror turned to confusion and he stepped forward again, tilting his head to the side. The Eliksni only turned away, still chortling, and walked off.

"Do not worry, Salarian!" He called over his shoulder. "I only kill Devils and Wolves!"

The Eliksni returned to his fellows, who nodded approvingly and laughed with him before continuing their exit. Tevos blinked twice before turning and rejoining Nakos, who stifled a laugh at her undignified hurry.

"That was Kathos." The Kell explained. "He is joker, yes?"

"That's one way of putting it…" Tevos said, slightly disturbed.

 **Council Meeting Chambers, The Citadel**

The chamber's the Kell and the Council met in was rather small compared to the grand meeting hall normally utilized by the Citadel's governing body, a large rectangular table sitting in the middle with a multitude of chairs around it. The Kell looked at his chair for a moment, before somewhat awkwardly sitting. His entourage remained outside with the Asari Commandos, except for his Servitor, apparently named Kaddak.

Sparatus looked mildly uncomfortable with his current circumstances, occasionally flashing a glance towards Tevos as though expecting another attack. Sallin remained quiet as everyone got comfortable, electing to observe the behaviour of Nakos. Tevos herself was incredibly nervous, but masking it well with skill won through her literal centuries of political experience.

Once everyone was seated and comfortable, the talking began.

"I believe the best question is the simplest." Sallin stated. "Where did your species come from?"

"Eliksni come from Kellavos, fourth world of the star called Ketchakor." Nakos began. "It is… it was beautiful. Great oceans, reservoirs of Ether, cities teeming with Eliksni all trading and working and loving. Ruled by House Kings, and Kell of Kings, leader of the Great House Council."

"What are these 'Houses' you speak of?" Tevos asked. "Some sort tribe or clan?"

"Houses are… Eliksni." Nakos explained, looking confused. "Group of Eliksni, united under banner of House. House dawn numbers twenty-three thousand strong. Great houses, like Devils and Kings, number in millions."

"But how are houses organized?" Tevos pressed. "Are they united by familial ties, or are they some sort of military force?"

"Houses are Eliksni who choose to join House." Nakos paused for a moment, then nodded, continuing. "After Eliksni is ten sun-spins old, they choose House to side with. Most remain with parent House. Others do not. I was House Winter when I was born."

"How does an Eliksni join a House?" Sparatus asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Must prove self in trials." Nakos said. "Different Houses have different trials. House Devils of Trial of Fire. House Winter has Trial of Ice. House Wolves have Hunter's Trial. House Dawn has Trial of Dark."

"What is the Trial of Light?" Sparatus was intrigued.

"Eliksni must prove selves capable of pushing through hardest conditions. If you want to join House Dawn, you must fight foe in pitch black darkness." Nakos explained. "Learn to appreciate light and dark both."

"I believe the most pressing question still remains." Sallin stated, leaning forwards. "What drove your people to leave your homeworld in a mass exodus like that?"

Nakos looked at the table for a moment, no doubt wondering how to answer that question. Eventually, he looked up. His voice was heavier, less mirthful than it had been previously.

"Ketchakor died." He admitted. "I said Kellavos _was_ beautiful. Now it is likely frozen waste."

"Your star perished?" Tevos repeated, raising her brow. "Were there no signs?"

"We had many sun-spins of warning." Nakos sighed, looking sorrowful. "Ketchakor began changing, growing larger, turning red. Solkis, Kell of Devils, declared it sign that the Kell of Kells had been selected. He declared himself Kell of Kells. Draksis, Kell of Winter, declared him false prophet. He called upon scion-houses, and two went to war. Kell of Kings called upon House Judgement, and House Wolves declared war as well. Now all four great houses were at war, even as sun burned ever hotter."

"Your people panicked." Tevos said. "They must not have known of solar cycles… but why declare war?"

"Solkis was always power hungry, wanting more and more control." Nakos explained. "Sun was an excuse. But all he did was distract us, seal our fate. House Dawn realized what red sun meant, but few other houses did. Then, when sun began to consume Kellavos with fire, others realized their folly."

"And you went through the Mass Relay." Tevos finished.

"Not intentionally." Nakos said. "House Kings began transmitting alien codes across every channel. Ship-Thrower activated, began grabbing and throwing Eliksni at random. First through were multiple House Devils and House Winter ships, still shooting each other. More ships went through. Many crashed into each other, many deaths. But more made it."

"And then they attacked Watch-Fleet Forty-Two!" Sparatus exclaimed. "You're telling me the first ships through the Mass Relay were part of a civil war?"

"Yes." Nakos agreed, nodding his helmeted head. "House Winter and House Devils were shooting each other. Your ships shot House Winter ship. Then House Devils and House Winter turned on your ships."

"So it was an accident?" Sparatus asked, looking guilty.

"Not accident." Nakos replied. "Devils are pirates, pretending to be warriors. They saw you were less strong. They destroyed you. Winter are brutes, easily confused. They did as Devils did, but thought you were stronger."

Sparatus placed his head in his talons, looking at the table. His subharmonics, inaudible to anyone in the room at the moment, spoke of regret and sorrow, with a tinge of anger. He looked back up after several seconds.

"I placed a kill order on all Eliksni ships." He said simply. "Your House Devils and House Winter killed my only son, and I wanted revenge."

Nakos' eyes went wide, and he stood.

"Your son was killed?" He asked.

"Yes." Sparatus nodded. "And in return, I declared your entire race the enemy of the Turian Hierarchy."

"On behalf of Eliksni who are not Devils or Winter, I am sorry." Nakos apologized, drawing himself upright. "What was your son's name?"

"Tyrios." Sparatus stated. "Tyrios Avitos."

After a short period of silence, during which both Nakos and Sparatus seemed to find some newfound respect for each other, Tevos coughed.

"The Kell of Kings said something on a transmission." She said, tapping at her omni-tool for several seconds. "He declared 'the Fourth Tenet' to be in effect."

"This is what I was hoping would not be spoken about." Nakos replied, shaking his head. "Tenets are laws all Eliksni follow, each having time to be used. First Tenet is times of peace, second for time of rebellion, third for time of war."

"And the Fourth?" Tevos asked.

"Fourth Tenet is only to be used if Eliksni are… lost." Nakos seemed to be struggling to put the description into words. "If we are dying or mostly dead, Fourth Tenet removes Kell of Kings leadership, makes each house independent. All scion-houses are removed from oaths sworn, all Dregs freed from punishments."

"A reset button." Sallin simplified. "This 'Fourth Tenet' dissolves all government, to better allow for survival in the event of a massive cataclysm. Clever, but also dangerous. No more government means no central power, essentially making these 'Kells' rogue warlords."

"Only one is permitted to end Fourth Tenet." Nakos added. "Hero of legend, the greatest Eliksni warrior ever. Kell of Kells."

"You said this… Solkis, he claimed to be Kell of Kells?" Sparatus asked, now out of his emotional slump fully.

"Yes. Kell of Kells is to come to Eliksni during time of great trial, when many terrible things happen." Nakos explained. "Is why Solkis' claim didn't work. Eliksni were happy, content, nothing bad. Was Draksis' argument, why Kell of Kings sided with Draksis over Solkis."

"And now the Eliksni are scattered across the galaxy." Sparatus finished. "With no central government, no homeworld and nowhere to go."

He looked up, eyes wide.

"Spirits, it's the Quarians all over again." He realized. "But with no central power. Nakos, what are the chances the Eliksni will resort to piracy?"

"Eliksni culture has three roots." Nakos said. "Old feudal kingdoms, ancient empires… and raiding."

The room went silent at that, and remained that way for several seconds.

"Spirits…" Sparatus groaned. "This is a disaster."

Nakos only nodded in agreement.


	5. Chapter 4

Breaking the Cycle

 **AN: Now that I'm done with school, I actually have time to write this story more often. Go me. Anyhow, here we have the return of the Imperium to the story. As the Council got a deluxe treatment last chapter, it's the Imperium's turn.**

 **And now I get to warn the wider public; the Imperium has been downplayed somewhat from its canon appearance, in order to provide balance. I know I will likely make some people mad because of this, but there is only five legions.**

 **Why? Because; A) the Imperium at its birth had no way of forging the war materials to arm millions of Astartes (Terra was basically Mad Max at that point) and B) I needed to ensure this wouldn't be what I have come to call a 'Humanity Wins' fic. What is a 'Humanity Wins' fic?**

 **Basically, an HWF is an unfortunate side effect of hardcore fans of certain things writing crossovers. In an HWF, the plot can be summed up as '(human faction) wins because (insert reason here). This can be anything from the Imperium's Space Marines to the UNSC having Spartans to X-Com having plasma.**

 **Don't worry, I'm not cutting out Astartes entirely. That would take out a lot of fun opportunities for story beats as well as being sort of like removing the Mekboyz from the Orks; it takes out all the fun.**

 **ANYHOW, that inordinately long intro out of the way, welcome to the chapter proper. Please don't throw flames at me, and give me CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. For those I haven't pissed off, enjoy. For those that I have… sorry. There's always other fics for you to read, I suppose.**

 **Chapter Four**

 **A Glorious Host**

 **Imperial Ascendant**

 **The Parade Grounds, Imperial Palace**

Banners rose to the heavens and the ground trembled as the legions marched.

At the head of the great column was the First Legion, their numbers having been brought from Polas and its surrounding territories. Twenty-thousand pairs of ceramite boots thundered as they marched. Their armour was a simple, flat black, as befit such grim and dutiful soldiers.

After them came the Second Legion, also clad in black, but with silver edging and ornamentation. Many of their warriors' equipment was visibly damaged, an obvious sign of their involvement in the pacification of the great deserts of Old Merica. They marched in a great column of ten-thousand men.

Behind the Second was the Third, in their brilliant purple and gold raiment, with bolters and blades of shining silver. They numbered five-thousand, the second smallest legion in the Imperium. However, regardless of their numbers, they were recognized as some of the Imperium's finest warriors, having earned distinction in the Proximian Betrayal where they defended the wounded Emperor from his foes.

Next was the Fourth Legion, in their blank white armour edged in blue. One who looked closely would notice the increased presence of chainaxes and chainswords amidst their number, a sign of their preference for brutal close quarters war. They numbered ten-thousand, same as the second.

Finally, the smallest force put forward, the Fifth Legion's column was made up of only a thousand burgundy armoured warriors, but were the only legion yet named. Fittingly titled the Thousand Sons, the Fifth made up for its miniscule size with the distinction that every member of their legion was psychically gifted, without exception, a decision made by the Emperor himself.

These five marched forwards, past enormous crowds of cheering civilians. For many, this was the first time they had set eyes upon an Astartes, let alone thousands of them. Children gaped in awe at the giants, clad in mighty war plate and wielding weapons larger than they were. Their parents marveled at the reputations more than the appearances, recognizing faces from newscasts and articles.

There was Belial, commander of the First Legion's eleventh company, the Wraith of the Shattered Forest! And over there was the head of the Thousand Sons, Azhek Ahriman, the sorcerer lord of the Nordafrik Garrison! Many of the Imperium's greatest heroes were organized in this grand march, this display of the Emperor's will made manifest.

Eventually, however, a hush fell over the crowd as the legions formed their ranks before the massive stage at the far end of the parade grounds, awaiting the arrival of their commander and lord. After several minutes of silence, whispers began breaking out throughout the crowd.

Why was the Emperor not here? Surely he hadn't taken sick, or injured himself. He was un-killable, the most powerful man alive, bordering on godhood. Several of the more easily worried members began spreading rumors.

He must have been wounded in an attack, some proclaimed. Assassins from the New Monarchy, or perhaps the Future War Cult. Maybe a traitor in the ranks, others suggested. Some dissatisfied commander with aspirations to glory, who attempted a coup. Others still wondered if perhaps it had been the Astartes themselves. Could this all be a plan to take control, now that they were organized in one place and Terra had been pacified?

 _Where was the Emperor?_

Praetor Luthor was wondering much the same. He quietly called to him Captain Balthasar, and sent him to the stage to seek news of the Emperor. Gabriel Santar, commander of the Second, did much the same with Captain Cadmus Tyro, and the two minor commanders met each other on the way.

"Greetings, Brother." Balthasar greeted, nodding at the Second Legion captain. "I trust Lord Santar has sent you to seek news?"

"Indeed." Cadmus confirmed, matching Balthasar's stride and pace. "He is concerned there may have been an attack. Apparently the Custodes are also nowhere to be found."

"The Custodes are gone?" Balthasar asked, raising an eyebrow. "Only the Emperor or Lord Malcador are allowed to summon them in any great numbers."

"Or the Captain-General." Cadmus added. "If anything's happened…"

Balthasar nodded, before the pair entered a door into the palace proper. It was then that they heard the sound of gunfire. Wordlessly, they nodded at each other. Balthasar pulled his greatsword from his back, the blade's power field activating. Cadmus, on the other hand, drew a chainsword, the weapon roaring to life as he thumbed the activation rune.

Together they sprinted towards the sounds, bursting through the wooden door before them. They had entered another corridor, this one larger than the last, a vaulted ceiling over their heads. Before them stood a man clad in black robes, his back turned to them. He had in his hand an ornate golden revolver, the barrel smoking, while at his feet lay a Custodian with three holes in his helmet.

The black robed man turned, and Balthasar realized he couldn't make out a face. Instead, smoky black tendrils rose from beneath the hood, and a pair of glowing white circles sat as approximations of eyes. He was also laughing, a malignant, whispering chuckle.

"And so the Angel of Redemption stands before me." The man said, holstering the revolver by his side, before his gaze turned to Cadmus. His voice was like a low-pitched facsimile of a snake, a whispery baritone. "But I do not know you…"

The man's head jerked violently sideways, as though he were suffering a muscle spasm, and he went still, his head still at an angle. His 'eyes' widened beneath his cloak, turning to the ceiling, before the laughter returned even stronger.

"My, what delicious tragedy…" He whispered, before returning his gaze to the pair of Astartes. "I would kill you…"

Balthasar tensed at that, raising his blade in a diagonal guard position and readying to charge. Cadmus drew a bolt pistol from his belt, cocking it and aiming it towards the shadowy man.

"But you have other fates." The man finished. "It would not do to upset the Cycle, would it?"

Cadmus scowled, before firing. The pistol's retort echoed through the hall, even as two more Custodian's burst through the far door. They took in the scene in less than a second, before rushing the shadowy man.

Impossibly, he dodged the bolt round, turning so it passed him. The golden revolver emerged from its holster cracked once, one of the Custodes crying out in pain as a hole appeared in his breastplate. Balthasar began charging as well, while Cadmus opened fire. More shells sped through the air, whipping past Balthasar and towards the shadow man.

Once more, the man dodged them, each shell winging past his head and chest. One of the Custodes entered melee range and raised his mighty Guardian Spear, stabbing forwards. The shadow warrior seemed to flow around the blow, before pressing his pistol against the Custodian's face. The Custodian turned away, stepping aside, so the shot missed.

The wounded Custodian's spear came up, and the built-in bolter began firing, shells screaming through the air. The shadow man was forced to dive to the side, towards Balthasar, who brought his sword down in a wicked arc. The shadow man rolled to the side, Balthasar's blade cutting through the metal floor rather than his foe.

The uninjured Custodian lunged with his spear, but the shadow man rolled under the blow, before his revolver came up. He fanned the hammer with his left hand, blasting several holes into the Custodian's chest. The gold-armoured warrior groaned in pain, falling to one knee. Balthasar swung over his head, removing the crest from his helm but striking the shadow man across the neck.

The cloth of the man's robe was rent, but there didn't seem to be any blood or other such damage. Rather, the shadow man hissed in pain, leaping backwards. The revolver came up and Balthasar dodged to the right, knowing his armour wouldn't stand a chance against such a powerful weapon. The shot went wide, punching a hole in the wall.

Then a chainblade roared and Cadmus was on top of the shadow man, his blade swinging downwards in a punishing blow. There was the sound of cloth tearing and suddenly the shadow man's outstretched arm was severed at the elbow, the ornate revolver falling to the ground.

A thick black liquid, like ink, spewed from the wound and pooled on the ground as the shadow man hissed in pain, before diving over the chainblade and retrieving the revolver with his remaining hand. He was now two meters away from Cadmus and Balthasar… but not the injured Custodian.

A guardian spear tore through his chest, the blade emerging from his ribcage. The Custodian hefted him into the air and then stabbed downwards, slamming his foe into the ground. The inky liquid was forming a puddle beneath the warrior, who screeched in agony.

"The Cycle must go on!" His voice grew fainter and Balthasar realized the shadow man was melting away, robes disintegrating into dust even as the trickle of inky liquid became a flood.

The Custodian placed a boot on the man's chest, no doubt to retrieve his spear, but his foot instead sunk into the liquid. He cried out as he sunk further, being consumed by the melting remains of the assassin. He fell over backwards, pulled off balance, and hit the ground with a thud, even as his waist sunk into the dark pool.

Cadmus cast aside his chainsword, the heavy weapon skidding across the ground as he rushed towards the sinking Custodian. A black gauntlet edged in silver came forwards, and wrapped around the Custodian's gold armoured forearm. He grabbed the Custodian's shoulder with his other hand, and began pulling.

The Custodian found himself sinking further still, despite Cadmus' super human strength. The black liquid was now running up his head and shoulders, coating him in darkness, and his cries grew more and more muffled.

Suddenly, spasms tore through him, his neck audibly cracking as his head leaned back at an unnatural angle. Cadmus leaned back, horrified. The Custodian began rising from the pool silently, heading straight up. Cadmus released his grip when the Custodian was free from the waist up and still silent, golden armour painted black.

The Custodian rose several feet above the assassin's remains, levitating in the air, before coming crashing down. The pool was now like shallow water splashing at the impact, but the darkened Custodian did not sink when he landed on one knee. Then, the helmet lurched forwards, despite the damage to the Custodian's neck.

"Already?" The Custodian's voice was gone, replaced by that of the shadow man. "I am returned to life already?"

The not-Custodian rose to his feet, as Cadmus stepped back, eyes glancing at his chainsword. Balthasar brandished his sword, snarling.

"Relinquish your control of him, creature!" He shouted. "Cease this foul witchcraft at once!"

"Oh, how I would love to." The not-Custodian replied, voice sounding disgusted. "This form is so blunt and crude, no subtlety or finesse. Absolutely awful."

"Watch your tongue, witch!" Spat Cadmus, stepping forwards. "You inhabit the body of one of the Emperor's chosen praetorians, the Adeptus Custodes!"

"Well then," The possessed Custodian said. "Your Emperor must have very low standards."

Balthasar roared in anger as he charged, his sword held at the ready. Cadmus, taking advantage of the distracted not-Custodian, dove for his chainsword, grabbing it in his hands. He thumbed the activation rune and the weapon growled to life, blades spinning rapidly as he looked to the not-Custodian.

"Second Legion!" He cried as he charged, sword raised high.

The possessed Custodian ducked beneath Balthasar's initial swing, before pushing himself backwards away from Cadmus' chainsword. The whirling teeth of the brutal weapon dug into the floor, spitting shards and slivers of marble across the hall before sliding clear.

Balthasar followed his opening blow with a downwards cut, that likely would have bisected the possessed Custodian had the grey armoured creature not pushed forwards and caught his forearms in hands like steel. Balthasar's ceramite boot came forwards in a brutal kick, hammering into the iron-coloured armour of the not-Custodian.

The not-Custodian was forced backwards by the impact of the blow, armoured boots skidding across the marble. Cadmus came in from the side, chainsword arcing around in a vicious swing that had the potential to cut deep into the possessed Custodian's back.

However, in an impossible display of maneuverability that would have broken the spine of anyone else, the not-Custodian twisted and bent downwards in such a way that the blade passed right over his head, before terminating his flip with both feet striking Balthasar in the chin, knocking the captain backwards and away from the oncoming chainsword.

Cadmus swore an oath that would have earned him a week of extra duties in the legion, before turning with his momentum and bringing the sword around in another swing towards the not-Custodian. The possessed Custodian merely brought both his arms up, his bracers deflecting the blow upwards over his head.

An iron-coloured boot smashed into Cadmus' torso, knocking him into the wall behind him and cracking the stonework. Balthasar charged, before the not-Custodian reached behind his back and pulled out… the golden revolver?

Two shots rang out. The first slammed into his right wrist, forcing the blade from his hands as the fingers loosened. The other severed the leather strap keeping Balthasar's bolter slung over his shoulder, sending it tumbling to the ground. Balthasar cried out as his weapons fell, before a third shot took him in the right knee.

His leg went out from under him, crumpling as the round splintered the bone in his shin and ensured he would be putting no more weight on it for a while. Twenty-Second Company Master Balthasar of the First Legion of Terra fell to the ground, unable to move.

Then the not-Custodian was running, a full sprint that left Cadmus unable to follow. The Second Legion Captain instead put a finger to his ear.

"This is Captain Cadmus Tyro of the Second Legion!" He cried. "An unknown enemy has… possessed a Custodian and is currently headed for the parade grounds!"

Naught but static replied, and Cadmus swore again, slamming a fist into the floor and sending cracks spider-webbing across the marble. He looked at Balthasar, who had rolled into an upright sitting position.

"Go!" The First Legion captain urged. "Chase him down!"

Cadmus turned to run, but a shout from Balthasar stopped him. He turned to catch a bolter whirling through the air toward his face.

"Take it!" Balthasar said. "Thirty rounds, fires full auto. Be careful, it drags to the left a little!"

Cadmus nodded, before setting off, booted feet thundering along the marble floor as he gave chase to the unknown assailant. The bolter was mag-clamped to his right thigh, leaving it easily accessible, while his chainsword was attached to his left hip.

He followed the distant form of the not-Custodian until he reached the end of the hall, with several doors all shut before him. He closed his eyes and let his enhanced hearing flourish.

There. From the right door, the sound of splintering wood and a faint cry of anger. Cadmus hammered the door open with his boot, before running again. He could still here the sounds of conflict, a shot ringing out. He rounded a corner to see the bleeding corpse of an Imperial Army soldier, a hole clean through the center of his dark blue fatigue jacket.

No, not a corpse. The soldier looked up at him, before pointing to the far passage, his hand falling limply by his side after only a moment up.

"Other troops…" The soldier groaned, voice weak. "Becca, Jona… try to help…"

"I will, brother." Cadmus said, nodding respectfully, before taking off again.

He only hoped the wound would slow the assassin down enough.

 **Rooftops, Imperial Palace**

The assassin burst through the door, his revolver snapping up and placing a round through an Imperial Army soldier's head. Her neck snapped back as she fell, leaking blood and brain matter from the hole in her skull. The assassin nodded as he ran.

"Rebecca Morent." He whispered.

Another soldier rounded the corner, lasgun raised and ready to fire. The revolver barked again, a shot punching through the crown of his skull and sending his cap flying through the air, only to land and roll along the floor to land at the foot of a third soldier, who was taking aim.

Ruby red lances of light split the air, the man's lasgun cracking off shot after shot in a rapid sequence. Most of the rounds missed, but several hit him, scorching already darkened armour. The revolver rose and fired without the assassin seeming to even aim, the bullet punching through the firing soldier's throat in a hail of bone and blood.

"Jona Mannon." The assassin whispered. "Victor Szabo."

Then the assassin was running again, leaping from one rooftop to the next in a great leap. Behind him, Cadmus ran through the door, looking around. Three corpses, and one fleeing assassin. Cadmus kept sprinting, now gaining on the assassin.

The assassin didn't look back at the pursuing Space Marine, instead leaping from a higher rooftop so his boots came crashing down on a soldier's shoulders, knocking her to the floor. He didn't bother killing her, instead continuing his run.

The soldier barely rolled out of the way when Cadmus came crashing down where she had lay a moment before, his boots cracking the stone slats. She gasped in terror as the black armoured giant chased the iron-armoured giant, and reached for her rifle that lay on the ground beside her.

Trooper Kayla Domoska had only ever fired her rifle in training, and had performed averagely there. She wasn't a bad shot, but she wasn't any sort of ace sniper either. But his shot was clearly pre-decided by fate to be perfect, a single lance of red light punching through the weaker armour guarding the back of the assassin's right knee.

The not-Custodian tumbled to the ground, in a fashion ironically similar to the manner in which Balthasar had hit the ground earlier. His helmet bounced off the ground with a satisfying _crack_ and Cadmus roared in synch with the roar of his chainsword as both came hurtling towards the assassin at a high speed.

The assassin rolled out of the way, attempting to rise from the ground, but two more infantrymen had spotted him and opened fire. They were confused by the situation, only knowing that there were nine-thousand nine-hundred and ninety-nine more men dressed just like the giant that still stood fighting for them every day.

And so the bolts of energy rained upon the fallen assassin. Custodian armour was resilient, but the process the assassin had gone through to possess the warrior he now fought as had weakened it, and it began to buckle beneath the weight of fire poured on it as even more soldiers saw him and began firing.

Eventually, they had to stop and reload, the assassin now a smoking, half molten suit of armour in the centre of the rooftop. Even now he attempted to rise, hands scrabbling at the ground, but a heavy boot pressed on his back and he heard a solitary _click_ of a weapon's safety being flicked.

"End of the line, creature." Brother Captain Cadmus said, before depressing the bolter's trigger.

Each bolter round was a seventy-five caliber shell, packed with mass-reactive explosives and travelling at a muzzle velocity typically reserved for anti-air cannons. The standard magazine held thirty of these rounds, though 'shell' may have been a more appropriate name.

All thirty had been blasted into the assassin in the span of three seconds.

Quite simply, there was little left of the assassin by the end of Cadmus' salvo.

Cadmus raised the smoking bolter, pointing its barrel to the gray sky, and let out a savage, primal roar of victory. The sensation of a successful hunt filled him, and the soldiers around him joined the shout, adding their lesser voices to the battlecry.

Custodians and even more Imperial Army infantry burst onto the roof through various access hatches and doors, ready to battle a lethal warrior who had possessed one of the Emperor's personal guardians. Instead, they found six soldiers and a captain of the Second Legion of Terra howling victory to the heavens.

The Imperium of Man had conquered its first alien foe.

 **AN: Well, I hope that satisfied the Imperium lovers I have no doubt attracted to this tale. Some good old fashioned Imperial ass kicking, peace through superior firepower. I apologize if I came across as angry or caustic in the opening note, but I have really strong opinions on that topic. Anyhow, I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter (posted rather soon after the last, I know).**

 **May the Emperor guide you all, my friends.**


	6. Chapter 5

Breaking the Cycle

 **AN: Wasn't expecting that good a reaction to the choices I laid out last chapter. No hate mail or anything, though I suppose if the thing that gets you mad enough to write a piece of hate mail is the statement that 'by the way, the Imperium isn't as powerful this time', you probably have some outside issues that should be addressed.**

 **Anyhow, as a great green man once said; 'ere we go!**

 **Chapter Five**

 **Ghost, A Perfect Child, Conquerors**

 **The Old Regime**

 **Tarith, Crescent Nebula**

The thundering boots of the advancing Cabal Legionaries was the only audible sound on the entire mountainside. They had been marching for five long days, only stopping for a few hours at a time, and never all at once. Individual units would stop and rest as the column passed them by, before taking up position at the end of the column.

They were enormous, each soldier standing well over two meters tall. Clad in bulky armour of white and green, with a leathery orange-brown material shielding any spot uncovered by plating. Their weapons were stubby black and steel firearms, with a strange slanted magazine sitting at a forty-five degree angle from the body of the gun. They had been named 'slug rifles' by the Turians, and the name had stuck.

The Cabal at the edges of the ranks were instead carrying enormous bulky shields, hexagonal slabs made of the same material as their armour. Their cyclopean helmets bore a small camera attachment on the top-right side, allowing them to peer over their shields when they took up their defensive stance and raised shields.

Scattered throughout the columns were soldiers with strange ornamentation and decoration on their armour. Fins rose from their backs and swept back from shoulder pauldrons, marking their rank as Centurion. Instead of slug rifles, they carried an odd grenade launcher of sorts, a stubby and complicated-looking weapon with a fat barrel and a skeletal design.

Spectre Kaddirus Venator observed all of this through the scope of his sniper rifle, scanning the column several times, before returning the weapon to his back and putting a hand to the side of his helmet.

"Command, this is Whisper-Three." He reported, voice hushed. "Column is still moving, no sign of settling. Requesting permission to run interference."

" _Permission denied, Whisper-Three."_ The commander replied. _"Continue observation, but do not engage."_

"Understood, Command." Kaddirus said, before pulling his hand away and following the Cabal column.

He tracked them through the green chlorine fog, his helmet filtering the air until it was breathable and supplementing it with oxygen so he could breath with ease. The Cabal seemed to never remove their helmets, and it had proven that they couldn't breathe oxygenated air. It only made most people wonder why they seemed to want so many worlds they couldn't live on.

Of course, Spectre Venator knew the answer. The Cabal wanted more land because they were the most powerful thing in the Terminus, and damned if they weren't going to exploit that fact for their own benefit. They had steamrolled half a dozen despot pirate fiefdoms, and were only getting started.

Tarith had been selected as the place where the Turians, with reinforcements of both Asari commandos and Salarian STG, would engage the Cabal on a groundside front. The Cabal had only proven too eager to engage the Turians, no doubt hoping to show the galaxy who was boss while also claiming this world.

Kaddirus knew that if the Cabal thought this would be an easy victory, they had another thing coming. The Hierarchy had sent a mighty force here, tens of thousands of soldiers and ships. The Cabal navy was mighty, but nothing the battle-hardened Turians couldn't handle.

Meanwhile, on the ground, every man and woman in the Hierarchy military was trained in the ways of war for two years mandatorily. The Cabal wouldn't have a good time down here either. It was Kaddirus' job to ensure that much.

Of course, he was a little busy watching the column march to dwell on that right now. As a matter of fact, he was busy dwelling on the simple thought of; _'where the hell are they going?'_.

The Cabal's current heading seemed completely random, no thought put into it. There wasn't anything out here, nothing they could want to attack. Were they moving to secure a new landing zone? Then where were the construction vehicles for fortifications? He put his hand to the side of his helmet again.

"Command, do we have any Cabal base sightings in the area?" He asked, confused. "They're not headed towards any positions I recognize."

" _Negative, Whisper-Three."_ Command responded. _"Orbital scans reveal no Cabal fortifications."_

Kaddirus shook his head angrily, not understanding. Where were the Cabal going? To establish a new landing zone? Then where were the earth-moving vehicles, the engineering teams? Maybe they were a scouting force? Why would a scouting force be so big?

No, the Spectre decided. Something wasn't right here. He was missing some critical information, some important piece of the puzzle. The Cabal did nothing without reason. They were a military culture, like the Turians. They were not prone to bouts of rash decision making.

So Kaddirus continued following the Cabal forces, watching as they marched ever farther into the wastelands.

 **Altia City, Thessia**

Vallia looked out from the window of her room, happily gazing at the serene garden filled with its beautiful fountains and colourful flowers. Tall trees cast shadows across the garden, providing perfect refuge for a picnicker seeking to escape the sun. A pale white wall, four meters high, encircled the perimeter, topped with red flowers that seemed to gleam in the sun.

She hummed a happy little tune as she skipped down the stairs, deciding that the best course of action for the day would be eating her lunch out in the garden, given the beautiful weather. With the eternal wisdom of youth, she decided the best lunch was a collection of her favourite foods all stuffed into a small hamper and carried out with her.

In went the little blue berries that tasted oh-so sweet, in went a loaf of her favourite sweetbread, in went a bottle of water (because mommy said that water was the most important drink, and mommy was the Citadel Councilor, so she was really smart) and finally, in went a big fuzzy blanket to serve as her seat and as a picnic blanket (because all picnics need blankets. Everybody knows that).

Then she happily skipped out the kitchen door, past the faintly confused kitchen staff, who simply resigned themselves to the fact their young mistress was but a child and left it at that. Her white dress rippled in the soft breeze, the skirt blowing to the right. Her bare feet left little indentations on the grass as she skipped over it, before finally finding the perfect spot.

A large tree with a knotted, old trunk sat atop a grassy knoll, its sun-dappled leaves casting a cool and pleasant looking shadow. Vallia eagerly bounced over to it, unfolding her blanket right beside the tree. The white blanket was held in place by four smooth white stones from the flower bed (she was sure nobody would mind) and the young girl's own weight.

She put the basket down gently, before opening up the lid and pulling out her water. However, before she could drink any of it, she heard a noise.

It wasn't the sound of voices, she knew that sound quite well. It was a low buzzing noise, barely audible, but she could pick up on it well enough if she concentrated. It was growing louder by the second, turning into a strange howling sound, like a strong wind.

Then, a shadow fell across her. Her eyes cast upwards, looking in awe at the black shape that blotted out the sun, growing larger and larger. Then, she realized it was falling towards her, and began running.

She heard shouts as she ran, servants and guards all panicking. The shape was still coming for her, it was going to hit her… then an aura of blue energy surrounded her, and she was pulled away through the air. The person who launched the pull, the head security officer of the estate, caught her in muscular arms before placing her down.

Then the thing hit the earth of Thessia.

A thunderous crashing noise sounded as it made landfall, snapping the gnarled old tree in two like it was little more than a toothpick. It carved a great rut in the ground, several feet deep, before sliding to a stop with the screeching of metal on stone.

The security officer, one Sergeant Mirya, stepped towards the unidentified object, pumping her Disciple shotgun and taking aim. Two other guards, armed with Acolyte pistols, followed her in.

It was some kind of metal pod, a tube of metal approximately five feet from end to end, and maybe three feet in diameter. The heat was oppressive, the metal of pod steaming in the cool air. The guard to Mirya's right approached the pod, her omni-tool forming around her left hand and wrist. She waved it in front of the thing, before shaking her head.

"It's made of some metal that… doesn't exist in our databases…" She said hesitantly, sounding confused. "It doesn't match any known elements or compounds. I'm picking up iron, carbon, titanium, a bit of copper… It's an alloy, but it doesn't match any known alloys we use."

"Some sort of alien tech, then." Mirya replied, nodding. "Any sign of a mechanism to open it up? A door?"

"Nothing as far as I can see." The guard said. "And the scan isn't… hold up, right over there. The whole thing's meant to open up, slide in on itself or something."

"How?" Mirya asked.

"I found some kind of mechanism!" The other guard reported, looking over to her commander. "Some sort of lever. Should I pull it?"

"Tilya, Acolyte at the ready." Mirya ordered the guard with the omni-tool. "We don't know what's in there. Orrala, crack it open on my mark."

Tilya took aim with her Acolyte, charging a shot and preparing to fire. Mirya did much the same with her Disciple, the heavy shotgun fully loaded. Orrala reached for the lever and, after a moment's hesitation, nodded.

"Mark." Mirya said.

Orrala pulled the lever forwards, and there was a mechanical rumble as the pod door shuddered open. At first, the movements were stuttering and rough, but slowly the motion grew more fluid until the door cleanly slid fully open. A golden glow emitted from inside the pod, and Mirya lowered her shotgun, eyes wide.

"What is it?" Asked Orrala asked. "Is there… whoa…"

She fell utterly silent, gazing at the entity contained within the pod. For there wasn't _something_ in the pod, but rather _someone_. The three guards looked with wide eyes at likely the most beautiful sight they had ever seen.

A literal aura of gold surrounded it, its pale skin practically glowing in the light of the sun. Its hair was the colour of silver, gleaming and shining. It was a child, of some unrecognized alien species, but the Asari cared not. They had never seen such beauty before, such perfection. The child's eyes opened, the irises a pale violet. Then, it smiled.

Mirya had been a soldier since she joined the Asari Commandos as a Maiden, hoping to serve her people in war and earn her place in history. Sadly, that had not happened, and she had instead been forced to take up a job as the head of Councilor Tevos' home security force. She was still quite bitter about it, and that bitterness showed frequently. It would often turn to rage when she drank (which she did) and explode outwards in a hail of violence.

Simply put, Mirya had been angry and bitter at the world for a long time. So saying that she finally felt happy when this child smiled was truly saying something of worth. She felt her spirits lift, and dumb, contented smile came to her lips. The other two guards did much the same, and Mirya reached into the pod to retrieve the child.

The moment her hands touched it, she felt heat emanating from its skin. It was strangely warm, and Mirya worried for a moment. What had it been like, falling through the sky in such a small object? Would it have been injured? She looked him over, but he seemed to be in perfect health. No wounds marred its perfect skin, no bruises or burns or any of the other injuries typically expected of such a hard landing.

In her scanning, she found a rather telling sign that the child was a boy, and smiled before cradling him in her arms. She looked up at the other two guards, both of whom had yet to break eye contact with the strange boy from space. She smiled as she spoke, and her tone was the lightest it had been in years.

"What is it?" Tilya asked, her Acolyte forgotten by her side.

"Somebody call Councilor Tevos." Mirya replied, still holding the child. "Tell her what we found. Tell her she needs to return at once."

Unseen by anybody until later, when the pod was handed over to an Asari government science team in an attempt to unveil its secrets, a small symbol rested upon the side of the pod. It was scorched and slightly melted, but three golden letters rested upon the side.

 **III**

 **Tarith, Crescent Nebula**

"INCOMING!"

The voice split the quiet air, at the exact same time the enormous ball of orange fire split the horizon. It shone like the sun, but it was followed by a multitude more projectiles, just like it. Private Remius of the Palaven Forty-Third Rifles took no time to consider what this could be signaling, instead diving behind the main barricade of Firebase Arkite.

The salvo of orange projectiles struck the ground with the force of… well, of a highly explosive incendiary explosion packed with fusion energy going off. The first blast split open a bunker and cooked the Turian soldiers inside, leaving them screaming pillars of fire. The others tore holes in the rocky ground, detonating violently and killing more troops as they ran for the safety of the bunkers.

Another bombardment struck further north, striking the airfield. Several bombers and fighters were scrambled to assault the Cabal forces, but many more were destroyed in hails of fire and death. Remius was cowering behind the barricade, rifle in his hands as he awaited death.

Then the roaring began.

A savage series of bellows rang out over the sound of explosions and yelling soldiers and general chaos. Remius looked up at the soldier atop the barricade, easily three meters over him.

"What is it?" He called, before the soldier answered with a general shout.

"Incoming enemy infantry!" The barricade soldier shouted, his voice panicked. "I can't count how many! It looks like an entire spirits-damned legion!"

Remius cursed beneath his breath, before praying to literally every spirit he could think of in hopes of maybe getting some help out here. More explosions sounded, another bunker being blasted open. A burning Turian, his armour melting from the intensive heat, staggered across the open ground before collapsing, writhing on the ground for a few seconds before going still.

Then, the shots began ringing out. The dull popping of Cabal slug weapons, and the higher pitched chattering of mass accelerator rounds as the Turians still atop the barricade returned fire. A body fell only a few metres from Remius, a burning hole through its chest and another having shattered its faceplate, leaving the soldier choking on the toxic chlorine mist that wreathed this place.

A louder crack rang out, the sound of a sniper shot. More slug rifle fire, more explosions, more chattering. Remius was stuck in a hell of noise and death and fire, his hands wrapped around his rifle like an anchor of sanity. When the Cabal came through those doors, he could pull the trigger, and they would die. That was logic he could rely on, and he took comfort in the fact there was still one final truth to his life currently.

Death was that truth, and Remius both feared and respected it.

A crackling came over the communications channel, and one of his hands left his rifle to press against the activation stud in the side of his helmet. The voice was stern, calm and serious.

" _All troops, prepare to receive charge."_ It ordered. _"First and Second Platoons to primary entrance, Third Platoon to the airfields, Fourth Platoon to the rear entrance for rearguard actions and prepared withdrawal. Spirits be with you all. Colonel Varnikus out."_

Remius heard shouts of his name, and turned to his right. There, sheltered behind a line of chest high field-barricades of grey metal, were several men from his squad. One of them, recognizable as Corporal Nyra by her possession of a Phalanx DMR instead of a standard rifle, was the one who was calling him.

"Remius, get over here!" Her voice rang out loud and clear over the chaos, and Remius immediately obeyed her order.

He took off sprinting, but a sudden strike from a Cabal artillery blast turned the world orange as the ground maybe three metres to his left exploded violently and he was sent spinning through the air. He couldn't see, but when he hit the ground he felt it in his right arm and his side. He bounced, rolling across the stony ground for several metres, before stopping. His ears were ringing loudly, and his left side felt as though it was burning.

"…Kid?" A voice came through the ringing, barely audible. "You… in there? Kid?"

Remius, impossibly, willed himself to move. He was still alive, and being alive meant fighting to stay alive even longer. His right hand scrabbled at the ground before he pushed himself up, sight slowly returning. He went to his hands and knees, before pressing his left hand into the ground as well.

Pain. Burning, aching, throbbing pain blasted up his arm in a line of fire and agony. He recoiled as though he'd been shot, and the sudden movement just sent more agony through him. He fell onto his right side, clutching his left arm to his chest and howling in agony. He felt somebody pull him by the shoulders, dragging him away as another loud explosion rang through the world and everything seemed to fade away into black.

He came to only minutes later, now sitting with his back to a wall and unable to feel his left arm. His eyes slowly opened to see two soldiers standing over him. One of them was Corporal Nyra, who was clenching his right hand in both of hers as the other seemed to be doing something at his left shoulder.

"He's awake!" Nyra noted, looking at him through her visor. "Remius, how're you feeling?"

"Arm…" Remius moaned, his voice low and scratchy. "Can't… feel… my arm…"

Nyra shook her head, and looked at the other soldier. The man looked at him, his tone apologetic as he spoke.

"Your arm was fried, son." He said. "I had to remove it at the shoulder, or else it would have kept burning its way through the rest of you."

Remius' eyes went wide, his body jolting to full awakening from shock and horror. He looked to his left, and noted that there was in fact no limb where there previously had been a healthy left arm. He began breathing quickly, unable to cope with the sudden knowledge that he was a cripple. Nyra held his hand tighter, and he returned the gesture as he shook his head rapidly.

"No no no no no no no…" Remius gasped, terror seeping into his bones. "Cabal… can't fight… no…"

"We've called in an evac for our wounded." Nyra replied, nodding. "They'll be arriving with the first wave of reinforcements in less than half an hour. We just have to hold until they get here, then you can get out of here."

Remius calmed down slightly, but he was still terrified. The Cabal were deadly, unstoppable killing machines. Just a squad could tear through a defensive position in minutes, and there was a whole Legion inbound. Nyra looked at the medic who had performed the amputation.

"Permission to remain by his side, sir?" She asked. "My sergeant's dead and my squad is down to four, including Remius. We can protect the wounded and help prep them for evac."

The medic nodded, before turning and running. Nyra grabbed Remius' one arm and pulled it over her shoulder, picking him up slowly and gently. The young soldier was still in shock, but was coherent enough to walk wherever his corporal ordered him to. He saw Sellion and Turnus, the only two surviving members of the squad besides him and Nyra, step in line with them. Turnus looked at him.

"We'll get you out of here, kid." He promised, nodding. "You'll see Palaven again, I promise."

Remius could only hope that was the truth, for the alternative was something he dared not dwell on. He could hear the popping of Cabal weaponry and the chattering of the Turians' weapons, and Turnus and Sellion were still scanning the area with their weapons.

"Where…" Remius tried to ask, before coughing and trying again. "Where are the Cabal?"

"Everywhere, but mostly at the main barricade." Turnus replied, not looking at him. "We're holding them, but barely."

"We only need to hold a little longer." Sellion said, ever the optimist. "Then the reinforcements will arrive and we'll be safe."

"Forgive me for not sharing your optimism." Grunted Turnus. "We've got a whole Legion of Cabal bearing down on us. I'd give us maybe a ten-percent chance of lasting that long."

"Lock it down, both of you." Nyra snapped. "We are the Palaven Forty-Third. _Not one step given_ , remember?"

Her quotation of the Regimental motto was enough to get both of the arguing soldiers to cease their verbal sparring and return to their observation. She pulled Remius up a little, before continuing their march. Remius merely followed along, still dazed.

This was going to be a long day, Nyra realized.

 **Greetings, friends and readers! Here I gift to you tribute in the form of a shiny new chapter, but I also bear unfortunate news.**

 **I will be gone for three weeks starting two days from now. I will be unable to update this story, but fear not, I will resume working on it once I return. There will be more, and soon we'll hit the fun bits (well, extra fun bits) in which everybody actually meets.**

 **Sorry to the people here for Imperium, but they got a whole chapter last time, so I figured it was the Council's turn this time around. However, you did get a consolation prize this chapter, given the arrival of a character who I'm not going to spoil the identity of, though it's really obvious to anybody who knows anything about the Heresy-Era Imperium.**

 **Anyhow, have yourselves a lovely few weeks, and then I'll be back.**

 **Caliban out.**


	7. Chapter 6

Breaking the Cycle

 **Chapter Six**

 **Smoke and Stone**

' _Why is it that all of reality seems so eagerly devoted to putting me in the middle of every single mess it can think up?'_ Lucas wondered, even as more rounds sailed over his head and thudded into the rock he was taking shelter behind. _'I mean, there has to be_ _ **someone**_ _else out there it could be fucking with out there. Maybe some of these assholes?'_

He rolled forwards, moving behind another boulder. This one, fortunately, was tall enough for him to stand behind, giving some small amount of relief to his cramping legs. More shots sailed past him, accompanied by the gruff shouts of angry aliens who would really rather he die right about now.

One shot clipped his helmet, the tiny fragment of metal ringing off the reinforced metal of Lucas' helm with a quiet _dink_ noise that almost caused the Shadow Marshal to laugh out loud at its sheer strangeness in the violent noise of the current battlefield. He contained the urge to chuckle, however, and instead poked his head around the edge of the boulder and quickly taking stock of his current situation.

His helmet cycled vision modes, quickly popping to thermal and revealing the exact locations of the five aforementioned angry aliens. Two of them had ceased fire, their weapons either out of ammo or…

The lowering temperature of the weapons revealed the truth. His theory about the overheating system was correct after all. The alien weapons apparently required no reloading (though how that was, Lucas had no idea) but did overheat, needing to vent for upwards of five seconds at some points.

The Shadow Marshal immediately exploited the sudden drop in his enemies' weight of fire, turning the corner and cracking off a shot with his sniper. The round sped through the air and suddenly ceased all momentum, a corona of blue energy forming a couple centimeters in front of his target's chest. Lucas swore, before ducking back behind his boulder.

Personal shielding, then. Not like the billowing smoke from the thermal vents or the numerical advantage was enough for the bastards, now they had freaking energy shields. The Helghast had been trying to develop personal shielding for years, but the ability to produce such technology on a scale small enough to fit a person had proven elusive.

But of course, reality loved fucking with Lucas. So, it had decreed the aliens had energy shielding that could stop bullets. Lucas groaned in annoyance as he swapped out to his sidearm, hoping that perhaps the shields would crumble under weight of fire. The laser sight clicked on with a practiced tap of the thumb, while the safety was dealt with much the same.

He spun around cover again, exploiting another lull in the storm of bullets headed towards him. The aliens seemed to be blind in this fog, so they could never be sure where he was until he opened fire. With his lips clenched in a line of determined effort, he opened fire.

Six rounds were loosed in as many seconds, and one of the blue fields disappeared in a flash of light. The next two rounds took the alien in the throat and upper chest, the former proving more damaging than the latter. The target collapsed to the ground, warm blood pouring from the newly formed hole in his neck.

Lucas ducked away again, more shots flying past him as he hastily checked his HUD for a bullet count. Four left in the magazine, and four targets. Oh, how he'd love to be able to drop a badass one liner like 'one for each of you' or something to that effect. Of course, the shields meant that…

An idea immediately burst into his head with unprecedented fury, and he almost cursed himself for not coming up with this solution before. Grinning, he called up North with a quick whistle. The drone de-cloaked, and he quickly made a slashing gesture across his throat with his left hand. The OWL _blooped_ in understanding, before disappearing again.

The four aliens shouted in surprise when, a few moments later, the electronic systems in their armour failed and their shields disappeared, leaving them defenseless. North _blooped_ again, this time alerting Lucas to his task's completion. Lucas grinned again as he whirled around his cover, cape flowing behind him. Five words left his lips, each letter calmer than a corpse.

"One for each of you." He said, cracking off four shots.

Three aliens fell to the ground, clutching broken faceplates or newly perforated throats with limp fingers. The fourth grunted in annoyance as Lucas' bullet bit into his bright red chestplate, but failed to cause any real damage. Lucas swore, realizing he was out of ammo, before rolling way from an ill-aimed burst of fire.

He came out of the roll in a crouch, holstering his pistol before reaching behind his back. The alien was searching for him, four eyes peering out over the smoky landscape but failing to see anything but grey smog and brown rock.

Those four eyes were still searching when a sniper round punched through the faceplate protecting them and pierced their owner's skull, driving home into his cranium.

"Make that two for you." Lucas clarified, nodding. "Now then…"

He rose from where he kneeled in the dust and ash, returning his rifle to its place on his back before whistling for North. The white drone appeared before his eyes again, _blooping_ happily when he gave it a pat on the head.

"Good work, bud." Lucas said, smiling. "Now then, time for the less fun part of the show. I need a scan of the surrounding area, and then we're going hunting, alright?"

North _bleeped_ again, before fading into invisibility once more. Lucas rolled his shoulders, before his helmet cycled back to camera vision. He was bombarded with the colour gray in all its beautiful blankness, and groaned in annoyance before setting off jogging. North was scanning the surrounding area, revealing he was standing in some sort of enormous blast crater maybe twenty kilometers around.

' _Super-volcano.'_ Lucas decided, after a few seconds pondering. _'Probably happened a while ago, that'd explain all the heat vents. Makes for a good hidey-hole, at least. Thermal distortion on scans from orbit, no way to utilize cameras or even most drones… practically genius."_

He shook his head, clearing his mind, before continuing. The newly constructed map on his HUD showed him to be standing near the western edge of the crater, and those radio signals were almost definitely from the center of this particular crater. If there was a hidden base… well, that would explain the presence of his welcoming party.

So, confident in his theory's correctness, he never pondered to wonder _why_ there had been five random aliens so far from their base, especially on such a hostile world. Instead he merely set off towards his destination, ignorant to the greater answer at hand.

It wasn't any answer he would have guessed at, that was for sure.

 **One Hour Later**

"This is it." Lucas said, looking over the buildings below him. "That's our target, it has to be."

The buildings in question were a series of obviously pre-fabricated constructions of grey metal and concrete-like material. Rectangular and boxy in shape, they were unappealing to the eye, obviously designed with the intent of fulfilling a purpose without any thought given to appearance. There were five such structures, arrayed in a roughly circular formation.

In the centre of the circle stood a large anti-air gun, likely an interceptor cannon meant to shoot down incoming troop transports and defend the base from airborne threats. Of course, Lucas was very much out of its arc of fire, but it was still a notable threat in the event he had to call for reinforcements.

However, what intrigued Lucas the most was the smoke rising from several of the structures, and the dull rattling of rapid gunfire that he could faintly hear. Trained eyes and advanced technology combined forces to pick out flashes of muzzle flare and the sight of small figures exchanging fire in the distance. His helmet's lone eyepiece spun and twisted with a whirring noise as it zoomed in, and the situation became clearer.

Red-armoured humanoids, akin to the ones he had just fought, were exchanging fire with figures clad in dark grey and black armour. T-shaped helmet visors and wide collars differentiated them from their foes, as well as the strange leg shape their armour bore. They appeared almost avian from a distance, like flightless birds wielding firearms.

Lucas sighed at this, shaking his head slowly. North _blooped_ in curiosity, materializing over its master's shoulder. Lucas only shook his head again, before looking at the white drone.

"Why can't life be easy?" He asked.

North, being a(n admittedly highly advanced) virtual intelligence, obviously had no answer to give. Lucas only sighed again, before turning back to the base and reaching over his shoulder for his rifle. The distance was just under one kilometer, the maximum range for his rifle. His opponents likely all had personal shielding, so it would take two rounds each.

He'd made harder shots.

He sighted his first target, a lone red-armoured alien armed with some sort of stubby shotgun-looking gun. His helmet warned him of the distance, and he adjusted his scopes position. A flare of blue marked the disappearance of the alien's shields.

Lucas inhaled slowly, before holding his breath. His scope went still, and he wrapped his finger around the trigger before exhaling and re-sighting the target. He went through these steps five times, until he knew he had the shot just right.

He inhaled one last time, and then squeezed the trigger.

The harsh _crack_ of his rifle's firing was nearly blotted out by the sound of the battle below, but not quite. Lucas' target went down with a hole in his faceplate spewing blood that began to hiss and steam the moment it hit the hot stone ground. Lucas lowered the barrel and pointed the weapon at the ground, his grip loosening and his breathing returning to normal.

"Log that." He ordered North, who _blooped_ in confirmation. "Then get your cloak online. I want to get a closer look at this situation."

Both sides down there were evidently confused as to where exactly his shot had come from, several members from both sides scanning their surroundings instead of shooting each other. Lucas, on the other hand, shouldered his rifle and grabbed his sidearm again, checking the mag before beginning to move forwards towards the structures.

He ended up sheltering behind another boulder in a similar fashion to his first engagement on this world, though this time the gunfire wasn't directed at him. He peered out at the two separate forces, each numbering approximately twenty men. He did a quick tally in his head, before cursing quietly.

"North, stand by." He ordered. "We need to stay out of this for a while."

Then, without much in the way of warning, one of the dark armoured aliens dove into cover beside him.

Lucas found himself face-to-face with a T-shaped visor of some dark glassy material, while the alien found themselves staring down a cyclopean crimson eye. They both froze for a moment, before the dark armoured alien ducked even lower as a hail of bullets flew over their shared cover. In a moment, Lucas whipped around the side of the rock and opened up, bringing down a red-armoured alien in a hail of shots.

The dark armoured alien also opened fire, shots snapping at the shields of another red armoured alien. Lucas realized, at that exact moment, that it didn't matter who these guys were. They were after the four-eyed kidnappers too, and that was good enough for him.

He continued his assault, even as the dark armoured alien pressed a hand to the side of its helmet. Likely accessing a communications channel, Lucas realized, even as the other dark armoured aliens all glanced at him with surprise. A bullet whizzed past his head, and he dove back behind the boulder in a combat roll that his old mentor would have applauded.

"North, engage." Lucas ordered, eyes darting across the battlefield. "Contact marked. Eliminate."

The O.W.L materialized behind the designated target, his engagement initiated in the form of several dozen chaingun rounds to the back. The targets shields flared blue, before snapping out of existence. The next burst punched bloody holes in their armour, before they fell to the ground limply. The dark armoured aliens nearly opened fire on North, but a barked order from Lucas had the O.W.L vanish into thin air.

Then he was moving across the open ground, even as shots hurtled over his head and plucked at his cape. He swore when one round found a new home by slashing through his right thigh. It was just a grazing hit, but it hurt like a bastard and he was knocked off balance because of it. He nearly hit the dirt, but kept his feet under him and kept moving.

Another round sliced past his ear, pinging off his helmet with a loud ringing sound that drew another curse from his lips. His right hand grabbed his pistol, the sturdy Stahl-19 handgun's weight reassuring in his hand. He brought it up as he gave a new order to North.

The red armoured alien before him was venting heat from its gun, but suddenly a burst of blue light marked the breaking of his shields. North _blooped_ confirmation of another successful overload, even as Lucas smiled and pulled the trigger, still sprinting.

The shot went wide, and Lucas cursed aloud before diving into another roll, the red armoured alien's shots sailing over his head. His knife flashed out from its sheath, glinting in the gloomy light, before he came up with his right hand stabbing viciously towards the alien's throat.

The knife pierced the soft leathery armour beneath the alien's helmet with surprising ease, and the shield didn't seem to be doing anything to stop him. A spray of bluish blood spilled out across his forearm, sizzling when it dripped onto the ground. He tore the blade from his foe's throat and kicked them to the ground, his boot slamming into their chestplate.

Another bullet sailed past his head, a second pinging off of his helmet again and sending a loud _CLANG_ cutting into his ears. He whirled to the left and raised his pistol again, firing wildly at the new threat before diving away towards the nearest structure.

He ended up right beside another red armoured alien, this one pointing a heavy looking pistol in his direction. Without taking moment to pause, Lucas dropped his pistol and grabbed the alien's gun hand's wrist with his left hand. His right came around, the knife's mono-molecular edge keening at the hot air as it cut towards the alien's throat.

The gun fired, and the recoil tugged at Lucas' arm and nearly pulled him off balance. The alien leaned away from the knife as it passed through the space where his throat had been mere milliseconds ago. Lucas felt an armoured boot slam into his gut and force his lungs to expel all air inside them.

He pushed forwards regardless, striking the alien's facemask with his elbow as hard as he could. He ended up with the helmet pinned to the wall behind them, with his knife hand right beside their shoulder. He dropped the knife, not wanting to screw up and cut himself, before grabbing a fistful of helmet and twisting the alien's head to the side.

They roared in pain as their neck was twisted, and their right fist clubbed Lucas' side with enough force to drive another breath from his body. His knee slammed into their crotch, and judging by the grunt of pain emitting from beneath that face-concealing helmet, it hurt. He relinquished his grip on their facemask, before grabbing them by the shoulder and pushing them aside for a moment.

The alien staggered when Lucas still held its gun arm, before the Shadow Marshal slammed his fist into their face. The punch pushed their head back and exposed their throat, but Lucas had released the knife. Instead he wrapped his hand around their throat and squeezed hard, trying to strangle his foe. He slammed them against the wall again, their armour clanging against the metal wall.

The alien kicked and bucked, but Lucas ignored the strikes and pulled them back away from the wall, before smashing their head against it again. This jarred them, and he did it again and again, three more times until they weren't moving any longer. He relinquished his grip, dropping the limp form of his former foe and reaching down for his knife.

The alien's hand suddenly came up and grabbed at his helmet's eyepiece, blinding him as he was lurched forwards. His head smacked into the ground far harder than he would have liked, and the Shadow Marshal swore as the alien grappled with him on the floor. The back of its helmet was dented and scraped, but still it fought on.

Lucas realized his pistol was right beside his head, and pulled up both legs so his knees were braced against the alien's chest. Then, with a roar of effort, he pushed his whole body up and over his head, essentially tossing the alien from himself. His hand scrabbled for the pistol, and he took aim and pulled the trigger.

 _CLICK._

"Shit."

He fumbled for a magazine, ejecting the empty, but before he could properly reload he was struck in the chest by a sledgehammer blow that drove all air from his lungs for the third time today. He fell backwards a little, the fresh magazine falling from his hand and thudding to the earth. Swearing as fumbled for the dropped ammunition, he missed the alien looming over him until he looked up and realized he was looking down the barrel of a heavy looking pistol.

The alien growled something in its own tongue, and Lucas only swore again before smacking aside the pistol. The weapon roared and the ground beside his head was suddenly newly aerated by a hole, but the damn thing wasn't pointed at him anymore. His right leg came up between their legs even as he slammed the recovered magazine home, and cocked his Nineteen.

"Just fucking die." He demanded, before the alien's foot slammed the weapon from his hand. "Motherfucker!"

He saw the alien retrieving a nasty looking blade from their belt, and brandish it threateningly. He searched for some weapon to use, before swearing yet again and whistling. North's chaingun… failed to fire. Then Lucas remembered the hard locked command in the O.W.L's programming. He couldn't fire as long as Lucas was within a meter of the target, to prevent over-eager Shadow Marshal's getting themselves torn apart by friendly fire.

Lucas crawled backwards, away from the angry alien brandishing a frankly ridiculously-sized knife, and reached behind his head. He felt the hilt of his knife in his hands, and he immediately grasped it tight. In another display of agility he flipped himself forwards so he was on his feet, before parrying the alien's slash with his own blade.

"Old fashioned way, then." He noted, before dodging another swing and kicking at the alien's legs.

His foot smashed into their shin, and they were forced off balance for a moment, just long enough for Lucas bring the knife towards their throat. The blade stabbed home, and Lucas roared as he forced it ever deeper into their neck and a spray of blue blood poured out across the ground.

"Finally…" He stepped back, leaning against the wall for a moment as North materialized before him. "Note to self; disable that command. Damn thing's useless."

North only _blooped_ in agreement, before turning to face Lucas' right and _bleeping_ again. Lucas turned as well, and saw the dark grey aliens approaching with weapons held upwards and pointed at him. He cast down his knife, raising his hands to the sky with palms pointed towards them.

One of them said something in some chattering alien tongue, and Lucas only shook his head in response, hoping they would understand the negative connotations. From the speech he picked one word in particular, however; 'batarian'.

He pointed at the corpse beside him and tried repeating the word.

"Batarian?" He asked, tilting his head forwards slightly.

"Batarian." The alien agreed, nodding, before continuing to chatter its tongue at him.

Lucas only groaned at that, looking at North in hopes his translator would be able to do something. North only _blooped_ once. No such luck there, then. Lucas decided to sit down, flopping to the ground. This was gonna take a while, and no point in doing it while standing up.

 **AN: Well, that took a while. I've returned from my mystical adventures that shall not be delved into, but now I'm ready to keep going. A full Helghast chapter today, since I kind of feel bad for the people here for Killzone as I've ignored them for two chapters. In return, here's your new chapter.**

 **Once again, thank you for the read. Feel free to drop me a review or PM telling me what you thought, and regardless of what you thought I hope you have a lovely day.**

 **Caliban out.**


	8. Chapter 7

Breaking the Cycle

 **AN: I swear upon all that is holy I will try to not do that again. Do what, some of you are likely asking? Disappear for a month and a half without updating once. Why did I do this? Because writer's block, school and my crippling fear of a bad chapter.**

 **In any regard, I apologize and promise to do my damnedest to avoid doing that again.**

 **As an apology, here's a chapter about the First Legion and also a Primarch.**

 **Chapter Seven**

 **The First**

 **Imperial Ascendant**

The void was alight with a million shimmering stars, each a tiny pinprick of white against an endless black abyss. As Balthasar gazed upon its splendor with augmented eyes that could pick out even the faintest hints of light from beyond the solar plain, he realized just how impressive this proposed crusade was going to be.

He reached a hand tentatively towards the arma-glass between him and the void, pressing a ceramite gauntlet against the cold surface. His prodigious palm and fingers covered a vast swathe of stars, and he clenched the hand into a fist as though taking them into his grasp.

"If only it were that easy." The stern voice of his commanding officer caused Balthasar to stiffen up, his hand shooting to his side as his other clapped to his breast.

Luther stepped into the observation room with long, elegant strides that set his sable robes swaying around his legs. His hands were clasped behind his back, nearly concealed by the voluminous folds of his chosen garment as his eyes looked at Balthasar with a glimmer of amusement deep inside.

"At ease, Brother." He said, nodding. "I simply come to see the sights as you do."

Balthasar remained silent as his Praetor turned to the viewport, looking upon the stars with those emerald eyes. In his pupils, a thousand stars seemed to reflect in tiny spots of white against a new black. Balthasar could a deep-seated desire in those eyes, a veritable _need_ to take all that was before him and make it his own. It was the same fire that had led to Luther taking up his mantle as Grand Master of The Order, back when the First was still naught but a group of knights defending Polas from its multitude of monstrous foes.

Now that lust for victory was directed at the vastness of space itself. Balthasar was sure that no matter what foes begot the Imperium when it first stepped into the wider galaxy, Luther would not hesitate to stand against it. Not just that, but it was likely the sheer determination present in his lord's heart would bring the Imperium victory over those foes.

This, Balthasar knew.

Luther turned those eyes back to Balthasar, and the hunger was gone so fast the captain wasn't sure if it had ever been present. Now those eyes were full of a patrician's pride, the approval of a father looking over his victorious son. Balthasar barely met that gaze, despite his advantage in height. He found himself wishing for his winged helmet, so he could at least conceal his weakness behind crimson eyepieces that hid his nervousness.

"Tell me, Balthasar, how goes the integration of Brother Seraphiel into your ranks?" Luther asked. "I know several of your sergeants were disquieted by the addition of one of the Reclusiarchy into your ranks. I trust they are less so now that they have met him?"

"Brother Chaplain Seraphiel is an old friend." Balthasar replied, nodding. "He and I were once members of the same sword line, before the birth of the Legion. I was pleased to see him again, and I believe he has quelled some of our newer member's doubts about the nature of our Crusade."

"Doubts?" Luther sounded surprised. "Who among your number doubted the righteousness of our purpose?"

"It wasn't treason, my lord." Balthasar hastily added. "Nothing too serious, just some lingering worries about what we may find out there. Several of my warriors are displeased by the notion of battling humans. If I can be frank with you, I too dislike the idea."

"If any of the colonies resist, there will be battle." Luther warned, as Balthasar's mind cast back to the Second Legion's efforts in Ancient Merica. "We saw much the same on Terra. We _did_ much the same on Terra? What is the difference between this and destroying the Raiders of the Shattered Forest?"

"They were on Terra, my liege." Balthasar retorted. "They saw the glorious reformation with their own eyes, the works of the Emperor and his chosen warriors. These people will have nothing but the words of strangers to prove we speak the truth. I still remember the day we were approached by the Emperor's Thunder Warriors, don't you?"

 **Old Polas, Before the Legion**

Splitpeak Fortress was a strange fortification, that was for sure. Less of a fortress and more of a canyon with walls at either end, each thirty feet tall and many feet thick. Each wall possessed two towers, and a central gatehouse over a massive portcullis that shielded a pair of gargantuan wooden doors banded with dark iron bands and rivets.

Of course, the portcullis was now a half molten mess of metal strewn across the ground in several twisted sections, while the doors had been blown off their hinges by a point blank explosive charge delivered by one of The Order's elite sapper units. Their black-armoured bodies still lay still on the ground before the gates, their sacrifice given worth by the actions of their brothers as The Order's great host charged.

His destrier's hooves thundered beneath him in a staccato rhythm that set his heart pounding and blood boiling. It was the sound of impending conflict, the kind that would result in many deaths and either glorious victory or disastrous defeat. It was the sound of the hunt, of the battle and of the war all at once. The music of war, a perfect percussion that drove men to endeavours of great physical and mental strength. The kind of music that marked the highlight of a man's life, or the end.

Beside him rode the other seven knights of his Sword-Line. To his immediate right was Sar Bayard, the eldest knight in the Line. His age was made evident by the lines on his face and his proud beard, a brilliant auburn affair that wrapped around his jaw line and up his temples in a set of mutton chops. It was often joked that Bayard took better care of that beard than he did his sword.

To Balthasar's left was Kyren, the only member of the Line who went without a shaved head. Instead, his raven hair was left short, but long enough to fall onto his forehead in a spiky line. Kyren's other notable feature was his sword, which forewent the traditional straight-sword design of most knight's blades and was instead a single bladed curved weapon, of a design Kyren often claimed was of eastern origins. Most of the knights of The Order accepted this as truth, since Kyren was the only one in Polas who seemed to know anything about the east.

Bayard's sword rasped quietly as it slid from its leather sheath, thirty-two inches of razor steel glinting orange in the twilight's glow. He raised it over his head as the Line continued its charge, eyes set on the fortification ahead. Already other Sword Lines had been forced to dismount as they cut, stabbed and shot their way inside the main gate, horses and men both laying in piles of the slain outside said gates. Tongues of fire rose from the eastern tower's parapets, smoke roiling from its windows as it burned from the inside out and casting a black cloud over the entire fortress.

The warriors of Splitpeak Fortress' lord held, desperately. The crackling of bolt-action firearms sounded from above, the harsh sunbursts of muzzle flare igniting between the battlements. A round pinged off of Bayard's breastplate, leaving a small dent in the metal as more shots thudded into the ground around them. One bullet caught the warrior to the left of Kyren in the shoulder, bouncing from his pauldron, before another took his horse full in the chest. The knight cried out as his destrier's steps faltered and he was thrown from the saddle.

A dull thumping sound was barely audible over the gunfire and screams, but the harsh whistling from above was far clearer. The mortar shell blasted a hole in the Sword-Line, two knights on the far right side disappearing in a roiling cloud of fire and shrapnel as though consumed by its incandescent fury. The sound of the blast deafened Balthasar for several seconds, and Bayard's grunt of pain as burning shards of metal bounced off of his leg was mostly unheard.

Then they were upon the breach, missing three men but filled with fervor and battle lust matched only by the desperate ferocity of their foes. From the swirling dust and smoke Balthasar's first foe rose, a burly man wearing the boiled leather vest of the so-called 'Wolf Brothers'. His hand axe came down towards Balthasar's leg, but Balthasar's own blade deflected the blow with haste before stabbing forwards and spearing the man through the shoulder.

The Wolf howled, a fitting gesture, in pain. His off hand held a shield that he rose over his head while crouching low, taking Balthasar's next blow on it instead. The wood cracked from the weight of the sword, but the shield held and the man swung his axe at the only target he could so from his position; Balthasar's horse's legs.

The destrier whinnied in pain and terror as its right foreleg was severed at the knee, causing the horse to bow forwards. Balthasar managed to untangle himself from the stirrups quickly before rolling forwards off of his downed horse and onto the ground. He rose to his feet and turned just in time for the Wolf's axe to slam into his left shoulder with bone-crunching force. The knight grunted in pain before bringing his own blade around in a wicked arc that the Wolf barely deflected with his shield.

Balthasar snarled his annoyance before reaching forward with his free left hand and snatching the rim of the shield, pulling it forwards and tugging the Wolf off balance. Then the sword came down again and drank deeply of his foe's blood and flesh, and the Wolf crumpled with a massive gash down his chest and eyes wide in shock from the speed of his death.

Balthasar turned towards the breach, seeing Kyren also dismounted and engaging two of the Wolves in melee. His curved sword flicked out like a razor sharp tongue of steel and took an ear off of one Wolf, before the other attempted to crush him with a massive two handed axe. Kyren sidestepped the blow before stepping forwards inside the man's guard and slamming his helmeted head into the Wolf's unprotected face.

Balthasar didn't see what happened next when another bullet slammed into his breastplate, knocking him back a step before he sighted the shooter. Another Wolf, naturally, hurriedly fumbling at his rifle's bolt. Balthasar, without even stopping to think, reached to his left hip and snapped the leather strap on his pistol's holster off, before drawing, cocking and firing the chunky weapon.

The rifleman fell backwards a moment before the bolt exploded, ripping open the right side of his chest in a hail of viscera and blood. Balthasar took aim and fired again, one of Kyren's opponents losing the upper half of his head in an instant. The raven-haired knight finished off the axeman with a swift execution blow that took off his head before turning and nodding at Balthasar. Balthasar nodded at the breach, and without a word the two knights set off towards the broken gates, Balthasar picking off a couple more Wolves with quick shots to the torso or head.

More cracklings of rifle fire, and two knights in front of Balthasar fell to the ground, blood pouring from ruined armour and punctured throats. One of them, bleeding intensively from a pair of holes in his right shoulder, managed to hold himself up long enough to fire back three rounds from his pistol before falling. Another knight grabbed him by the shoulders and began pulling him away from the line as Balthasar passed them both, pistol firing again.

The riflemen were blurry silhouettes, half-concealed by the smoke and dust that wreathed the battlefield in a great gray and white cloud. Balthasar opened fire and one of the silhouettes fell away with a sudden cry of pain, before he threw himself forwards to the ground along with Kyren. The rifles crackled and shots buzzed over their heads, and then they were up and moving again.

A huge, heavily muscled man wielding a simply gargantuan gun with a barrel as wide as a fist burst through the smoke, his weapon roaring a savage retort even as Kyren brought his sword to bear. The eastern blade was sent tumbling to the ground before he even finished the swing as his body was rent by a veritable wave of shrapnel. Balthasar lunged over his fallen brother with his sword outstretched and aimed at the huge man's throat.

He felt it slide home, a gush of crimson blood bursting from the man's newly perforated throat, a defiant war cry turning to a pathetic gurgling sound as Balthasar tore his weapon free. The massive man collapsed backwards, the huge gun falling from slack fingers and thudding to the ground. Balthasar stepped over his corpse towards the riflemen, who watched his approach with terrified expressions.

He raised the pistol and it barked seven times. Each rifleman fell with a gaping hole blasted in their chest, before Balthasar continued his march. Around him more and more knights of The Order rushed forwards, exploiting the gap in the enemy's defenses. More rifle fire crackled from the smoke, but most of the enemies they now faced wielded axes and swords and large round shields.

They were no match for The Order, whose warriors were required to train for years from childhood to be worthy of joining a Sword-Line and fighting as knights proper. One knight was worth three Wolves, and the only black-armoured casualties were the results of the rifle fire still coming from above. Balthasar brought his blade down on the shoulder of one Wolf, severing their arm entirely from their body. Another Wolf rushed him with a sword the bounced off of his breast plate, before Balthasar grabbed him by the shoulder and buried his own blade in the man's stomach to the hilt.

There was a hideous sucking noise as he wrenched the weapon free, leaving the warrior on the ground groaning in agony as he pressed on. To his left was Bayard, kicking down a Wolf and blasting his skull into paste with a single round from his pistol, before parrying another Wolf's wild swing and riposting with a perfect slash across the throat. Balthasar took the moment of relative calm to sheath his blade and flick the release on his pistol, slamming another magazine into the catch before cocking it again.

A rifle shot pinged off of his kneepad and he looked up, cracking off a shot with practiced ease. The rifleman's guts burst all over the ground when the bolt caught him low in the stomach, and he fell to his knees with his arms wrapped around his ruined midriff. Balthasar scanned the field again, before re-holstering his pistol and setting off again. The gate was right ahead of him, and the battlements were seemingly clear of enemies.

Then, just as he was on the verge of entering the fortress, there was a terrible rumbling sound from above. He barely had time to register the sound before stones began raining down on him and his fellow knights. A massive block slammed into the shoulder of one man to his right, who roared in pain before another block cracked onto his head and he fell limply to the ground. Balthasar turned and ran as the gatehouse rained down all around him, crushing his fellow knights as they too fled.

A rock caught him in the back of the shin, and he was knocked to the ground when the limb refused to bear any weight. He began pulling himself forwards with his arms, hands grasping at the earth before him. More stones fell, one nearly crushing his right hand before he withdrew it. He knew he was almost clear, when another hand grasped his own and began to pull him from the disaster. All he could see of his unknown saviour was black armour and a white tabard.

Then the warrior stopped pulling and Balthasar was moving, rolling onto his back. The same gauntlet that had just pulled him from the rubble reached down and grabbed hold of his forearm, pulling him to his feet. He finally realized who his unexpected guardian was when he saw the white hood over his helmet, the plume removed to fit the cowl.

"Are you alright, Balthasar?" Seraphiel sounded concerned, even through the muffling his helmet caused.

"Some rubble hit my leg…" Balthasar replied, favouring his right foot at the moment. "I'm not sure what the damage is…"

"We'll get you to the apothecaries." Seraphiel declared, throwing Balthasar's left arm over his shoulders. "They'll get you back in fighting condition with haste, I'm sure."

But their journey was interrupted when hundreds of voices roared a battlecry from behind them. Balthasar and Seraphiel turned to see a veritable wave of Wolf Brothers charging over the mountain of rubble that was once the gatehouse and charge towards the scattered Order knights as the latter tried to rally against the incoming horde. Pistols rang out, but each wolf that fell was merely crushed beneath his fellows as they rushed forwards.

Balthasar's sword was gone, buried beneath the destroyed gates. He instead worked his pistol into his right hand, before taking aim and firing. He didn't even need to bother with aiming, simply pointing in the general direction of the enemy forces and pulling the trigger was enough to kill something. Seraphiel's right hand wrapped around his mace, the heavy iron head lined with spikes as he hefted it to the sky and roared defiance.

Knights of the Order rallied around them, Bayard joining them with pistol roaring and blade singing. More and more warriors came to them, until they numbered at least fifty. Fifty against four or five hundred. This was the sort of battle legends spoke of, a glorious stand against overwhelming odds. The sort of battle every man here would be quite pleased to die in, knowing his defeat would be marked in the annals of history as a glorious final chapter to his life.

And so the Wolves came upon them, and the knights of The Order's Fifth Host did battle for the last time.

Or, that is how this battle would have been marked were it not for the sudden sound of thunder from above, and the rapid booming sound like a thousand of the knights' pistols firing in unison. In a welter of gore, the Wolves front line seemed to just… disappear. Like morning dew in the sun, they evaporated to naught but a fine mist of red. The warriors behind faltered, looking above the knights with wide eyes and dropped jaws, faces frozen in shock and terror.

Balthasar looked over his shoulder and up, seeing nothing. Then it came into view, a giant metal bird of gold with a boxy body and no head. Its wings were sharp and angular, with two smoking clusters of metal tubes emerging from boxes slung beneath. Balthasar watched in awe as those clusters of tubes began rotating with such speed they turned to a single blurry cylinder, and a blinding glare emitted from them as they spat hundreds… nay, THOUSANDS of bullets that ripped through the Wolves.

The Wolves in the front cried out in terror and turned, running into the Wolves behind them and turning the whole arrangement into a mess of terrified warriors and corpses. The metal bird flew over once more, ripping into the packed mob with its enormous guns again. Then it seemed to fly to a nearby hilltop, where it slowly lowered to the ground as heavy metal legs and feet emerged from its base, hitting the ground with heavy thumps.

The knights didn't watch as this happened, however. They were trained warriors with a routed and disorganized enemy before them. And so they charged, pistols barking as rousing warcries rose from the throats of forty-eight knights. For Balthasar and Seraphiel instead chose to make their way to the hill where the great metal bird had landed.

Its belly had opened up, a metal ramp descending from its body like some kind of staircase. And down that ramp walked giants.

They were enormous men clad in golden armour that whirred and clicked with every movement. Machinery, a young Balthasar supposed, doubtlessly akin to his own armour. Obviously a superior breed of powered armour, but the comparison was easily made. Red plumes rose from helms with opaque black visors concealing the upper halves of men's faces, with square jaws set in grimaces of determination.

The man at their head walked towards Balthasar and Seraphiel with measured strides, his stride heavy and his face severe. This one wore no helmet, revealing the face of a man amplified in every proportion. His nose, eyes and cheekbones were all larger than those of any man Balthasar knew, while his shaven head was marked with a hundred scars. His skin was weather beaten, tanned and marked with lines that showed his age. His eyebrows were furled, a sign of curiosity, while his lips were creased in a slight frown, as if he were dually interested and disappointed with Seraphiel and Balthasar both.

"Greetings." He said, with a voice like a rockslide given the ability of human speech. "I am Captain Saulden of the Thunder Warriors, the Emperor's chosen warriors. Who is it I speak to?"

"You speak to Seraphiel, knight-Chaplain of The Order." Seraphiel replied, his own voice smooth and even. "Second in command of The Order's Fifth Host. What brings you to Splitpeak Fortress, Captain Saulden?"

"And I am Balthasar, brother-knight of The Order." Balthasar added, nodding.

"I must speak to your commander." Captain Saulden replied, without even acknowledging Balthasar as his gaze remained fixed on Seraphiel. "I come in the name of The Emperor and your Grand Master Luther both."

"I am afraid Knight-Captain Remillion has fallen in battle." Seraphiel said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "I am currently the highest authority present. So I ask again; what brings you to Splitpeak Fortress?"

Saulden looked upset. This made Balthasar dually pleased and worried. Pleased because the veritable aura of pride this man was emitting made him immediately dislike him, and worried because he was head and shoulders taller than Seraphiel and had a very large serrated sword at his hip.

"I come in the name of the Emperor of Terra." The Captain explained, curtly nodding. "He seeks an alliance with your 'Order', despite my advice, and I am his envoy in this region. Henceforth, my fellows and I are here to aid you in your efforts against these 'Wolf Brothers'."

"Well…" Seraphiel was very clearly thinking about this, considering what this meant for The Order. "We thank you for your aid, and welcome any further efforts you may wish to make."

And with that, Seraphiel turned and helped Balthasar down the hill, glancing at him with doubtful eyes. Balthasar only nodded in agreement, doubting the words of these 'Thunder Warriors' as much as his commander. Then, the ground beneath his feet began to shake as the enormous warriors sprinted past, heavy rifles raised.

They began firing, and a roaring sound like a thousand blasts of thunder filled the air as the weapons muzzles lit up yellow and orange. The bullets were deadly accurate, hitting home with each shot and blasting apart the Wolves like the bolts of Balthasar's own pistol. Then, moving at a speed Balthasar typically associated with charging warhorses, they entered close combat, and the true killing began.

Every movement was graceful despite their bulk, and in combat it was like they danced from foe to foe, cutting them down with roaring swords and brutally powerful blows. A brilliant choreography of death, Balthasar judged. The result of intensive training, beyond the scope and scale of even his own years of rigorous practice and drilling, all resulting in what many would embrace as the perfect warrior.

One Thunder Warrior could kill three men with a single swing that tore through the leather armour and wooden shields of the Wolves', sending them tumbling to the ground gushing blood from ruined torsos sundered by the ripping teeth of the Thunder Warrior's incredible blades. They fired those massive rifles one handed, blasting shots into foes at point-blank range and ripping bloody swathes of Wolves into ruined corpses with volleys of explosive bullets.

And so Balthasar stood and watched as the Thunder Warriors killed, and as his world was changed irrevocably.

 **Old Polas, Before the Legion**

Balthasar doubted these 'Thunder Warriors', and their intentions.

They claimed to serve a greater warrior than even they, a mythically powerful figure they named only as 'The Emperor', and it was in this Balthasar found fault. They practically worshipped that man, this virtually deific figure who apparently possessed untold power that could wreak havoc upon entire armies in but moments, or could change the heart of even the most zealous man to his cause with a single whispered word.

And in that worship they seemed hypocritical, for they then claimed the gods of the people of Old Polas were false and the worship thereof a barbaric gesture. No god could ever rule mankind, these mighty warriors declared, for mankind was too powerful for such a thing to be feasible. No, they proclaimed, mankind's future was its own to create, without the meddling of some ancient sky-king.

They proclaimed the divine to be false, yet worshipped their own leader as though he were divine. What sort of fallacy was this, Balthasar would always wonder? How could one proclaim such a practice to be barbaric and then embrace that same barbarism with such alacrity?

No, Balthasar decided. The Thunder Warriors were hypocrites like any other pretending to be of greater purpose. Pawns in some ruler's game, as that ruler tried to claim supremacy over Terra like a thousand despot warlords before him and a thousand more that would follow. The Order would never fall for such bold-faced lies, Lord Luther was too intelligent a man for such a thing to deceive him.

At least, Balthasar hoped so.

 **Tarith, Crescent Nebula**

At first, they thought it was a Cabal ship.

A rapidly moving object hurtling through the atmosphere towards their base at speeds that suggested it was either outside power or had been fired like a weapon? What else could it possibly be?

But then it grew close enough to be observed with video-ranging technology, and new theories were made up on the spot. It was so small, it was more likely to be some kind of weapon. No matter, the commanders of the base decreed. It would never pierce the kinetic barrier shields over the base, not at that speed.

But then, impossibly, it slowed down. And that's when the commander's began panicking, when it was only thirty seconds from impact. What was this thing, some kind of smart-bomb that could detect the presence of kinetic barriers and adjust its approach accordingly? No, others argued, that wasn't possible. No technology the Cabal had displayed suggested they were capable of producing such a weapon.

Then the object hit the base.

There was no massive explosion, no wall of fire engulfing the base, no nuclear blast that vapourized all before it. Rather, there was a rather anticlimactic silence about the base as the Turians realized the object had done nothing but land with great force and tear a gouge in the eastern landing pad.

And so Corporal Nyra and Privates Sellion and Turnus ended up pointing their rifles at a scorched metal container roughly the size of a person. Nyra approached it slowly, carefully, in the event that it was a weapon and had only failed to detonate. Turnus moved to her right, and Sellion to her left, their breathing slow and careful as if the sound of moving air would trigger this thing. The toxic mist in the air swirled around it, stirred up by the heat it was emitting from re-entry into atmosphere.

Nyra began to circle the container, before realizing that there was a groove in the metal that ran in a rectangular patter atop it, making a shape strangely akin to a door. She reached out with her left hand, her Phalanx rifle still pointed at the pod with her right, and touched it ever so gently. It was warm to the touch, but not as hot as one would expect from metal that had just been through the atmosphere.

Then, the pod beeped at her. It was a low sound, quiet, but she still heard it as clearly as Turnus did. This was made clear when he jumped and raised his rifle in response, before she put a hand up to stop him. They backed away slowly as the metal rectangle hissed with the sound of escaping air, a white mist pouring from it as it clicked open and began sliding to the side.

Nyra slowly walked towards it again, rifle still up and ready, before her eyes went wide behind the mask and her mandibles clicked together once in surprise. For inside the container was a tiny Asari-shaped life form, but it resembled no Asari she had ever seen.

Its skin was a pale colour, like marble, for one. Another differentiation was the lack of head-tendrils, as it instead had some sort of short, stubbly fur growing from its scalp. Nyra looked down at as it rested, its tiny hands clenching into fists as its mouth slowly yawned open. Its legs kicked as it gurgled slightly, but these movements were ignored when its eyes opened.

Nyra knew this must be some kind of child, for no grown alien would be this small, this delicate looking. But when its gaze met hers, she felt an enormous sense of duty in that little creature's emerald eyes. She felt the sudden need to salute, to stand at attention and pay her respects, but she realized the nonsensical nature of those feelings. This thing was tiny, not even Turian, and she had just found it in a metal container that had fallen from space.

And yet it held a weight in its eyes, a determined look that told her that should she kill this thing right now, she would be destroying something that needed to exist and halting a plan that had to go on. It was an incredible sensation, realizing her own existence would mean nothing compared to this tiny alien's. Turnus and Sellion felt it too, somehow, and actually lowered their weapons and straightened their postures as though in the presence of a direct superior.

It took her several seconds after it closed its eyes for her to stop staring, and several more seconds before she put a finger to the side of her helmet and make a report.

"Command, the object appears to have been some sort of pod." She explained, voice strangely emotional. "It opened, and inside was… I… sir, you have to see this with your own eyes. It's… it's incredible."

Her voice cracked at the end, and she terminated the communications link without even waiting for command to respond. Instead, her eyes returned to the tiny alien, and she stepped towards it, dropping her Phalanx to the ground as she slowly, carefully took it into her arms. She held it the way her mother had held her little brother, and it gurgled again as it shifted in its sleep.

"Corporal…" Turnus began, voice hesitant. "What… what is it?"

She struggled to find an answer that fit, that could properly describe the weight of this thing's existence. Finally, after several moments of silence, she spoke.

"It's the most important thing you will ever see, soldier." She stated, not even daring to look away.


End file.
